


An Ode to Broken Things

by Wizards_Pupil



Series: Ode Verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Adventure, Angst, Congestive Heart Failure, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Friendship, Greenwood, Hurt Bilbo, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Protective Gandalf, Romance, Slash, Thilbo, Travel, bagginshield, courting, dying character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thorin, I have a weak heart. It has trouble pumping enough blood through my body. That’s why I’m always so low on energy. And…” Bilbo swallowed, forcibly keeping his eyes on the flickering flames. Thorin wasn’t moving by his side. “And it’s failing. There are healers in Greenwood who have gifts for mending hearts, but there isn’t much chance it will work. I haven’t been very responsive to any other methods, and… Well… I don’t have very long.” Bilbo dropped his eyes to his hands. He’d ripped the four-leaf clover Bofur had given him. It seemed horribly symbolic of his life.</p><p>Headed to Greenwood to see the healer Thranduil, Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey hitch a ride with thirteen dwarves headed to Erebor.</p><p>Bilbo had hoped it would be like the adventures he read. That there would be orcs, sword fights, torture, revenge, trolls, chases, or escapes.</p><p>He had never expected miracles or true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I am a leaf on the wind... watch how I soar._

_\- Serenity_

* * *

 

It seemed to Bilbo that birds sang with the voice of the wind. They sang about freedom and the breeze that whistled through the trees. They sang about freedom. About a joy that was wild and untamed.

They sang about the essence of life.

Bilbo wanted to sing like they could. He wanted to be so full of freedom that he could sing life into the very air as it swirled around him.

But Bilbo couldn’t sing like the birds, or sway in the wind like the trees with their endless dancing and merrymaking. Bilbo could only sit and watch the wonder of nature brimming with life, so full of it that the essence of it’s joy poured out so that everyone could see its beauty and  partake in it.

Bilbo thought about life a lot.

It had started when he was fifteen, hardly even a tweenager. Far too young to be thinking about life.

To be thinking about death.

He’d been running to find a place to hide. Saradoc was already well past sixty on the count, and he only had a minute or so before the Brandybuck came to find him. Bilbo had never been the best runner in Hobbiton, but he could run for ten or so minutes before being out of breath.

He’d been running for less than a minute when he suddenly couldn’t get any air in his lungs. He leaned against the nearest tree, propping himself against the rough bark. His head pounded and his vision swam and he could not breathe. He heard one of the other hobbits coming towards him, but he couldn’t care.

“Bilbo? Why are you hiding here? This isn’t a good spot.” Little Esmeralda insisted. Bilbo opened his mouth to reply but he couldn’t find any words through his panting. He couldn’t get any air. His vision was blackening around the edges and lungs were burning.

It hurt.

“Bilbo? Are you alright?” Bilbo gaped at his friend, tried to speak, and then he lost what was left of his vision and he fell backwards. He hit the solid tree and then it was nothing but darkness and silence.

He woke up to the lovely view of a paneled ceiling and he couldn’t figure out what happened. He had something over his nose (it smelled extremely pungent) and someone was holding hand tightly. He blinked at the wood and then realized that someone was talking to him.

“Gandalf?” He tried, and the word came out sounding like he was talking through a bowl of cotton.

“Bilbo, bless Eru, you’re awake.” Bilbo managed to turn his head and he was quite certain it was the hardest thing he had ever done. It felt like a monumental task until gravity helped his head drop. The wizard was staring at him with wide eyes that were more frightened than Bilbo could ever remember seeing.

Actually, he couldn’t ever remember seeing Gandalf scared. He was a wizard. He didn’t get scared.

“What happened?” he asked as loudly as he could, which wasn’t very. It was hard to make any sound at all. He had no idea what was wrong with him. It was beginning to be a bit frightening.

“Oh, Bilbo.” Gandalf sighed, and Bilbo half imagined there were tears in his eyes. It was unsettling.

“Did I faint?”

“Yes.” Lily Cotton, the healer in Hobbiton, said. Bilbo hadn’t seen her standing at his bedside. He felt rather silly about that now. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed her. She had bright red hair and was wearing a green shirt. She stuck out in the cream colored room like a sore thumb.

“Why?”

Lily’s eyes were sad, and her shoulders seemed to slump. “Because your heart wasn’t able to pump enough blood. Your body had to shut down.”

And that was the very moment that Bilbo began to think about death.

Fifteen years later and not much had changed. Bilbo couldn’t run, couldn’t jump or dance or do anything much. His heart wasn’t strong enough. He was dying.

That was what led to Bilbo laying under the sun filled sky and listening to the birds. It was how he seemed to spend most of his free time, whatever wasn’t spent in lessons with Gandalf, healers, or sleeping. Bilbo envied the vibrant greenery all around him.

He’d been moved to the far edge of Rushock Bog because it was more secluded. He couldn’t handle playing with the other hobbit children, and Gandalf hadn’t wanted to risk anything happening to him.

Today he didn’t want to just lay around the house. He wanted to do something. He couldn’t run, or jump, or play the games that everyone else got to play,  but he could take in the beauty around him.

He wanted to join in with the life around him.

There was a lake a few hundred yards away from the house he lived in. The lake stretched out before him now, undisturbed and dark blue. It was the only thing that could ever tempt Bilbo to jump into water.

Tempt. He would never actually set foot in a lake. Hobbits did not swim.

He found himself a dry spot overlooking the water and sat down. He read for a while but the story couldn’t hold his interest today. He laid back and looked up at the sky and let his mind wander as he took in the clouds. The breeze off the lake and the quiet chirping of the crickets made Bilbo drowsy and he found himself drifting off into the world of daydreams.

In his dreams, he could fly. The wind was like liquid under his wings and he could move through it without any trouble. It was his favorite type of freedom. In his dreams he had the energy to do whatever he wanted.

A splash broke him from his daydream, and made Bilbo’s heart flip in his chest. His eyes popped open and he pushed himself up. Someone was swimming in the lake.

No one ever swam in the lake. Hobbits didn’t swim and no elves wandered into this part of the shire.

Bilbo stared at the lake and it took him several minutes to find the person who was in the water. They were at the far end of the lake with their back to Bilbo. they wouldn’t be able to see him from their position, and for some reason that made Bilbo feel like he was a bit of a peeping Tom.

He couldn’t make out much about the person, except that they had long dark hair. The length of the hair made him think it might have been a woman, perhaps an exceptionally brave hobbit. They moved through the water with powerful strokes and covered the entire width of the lake with only three pauses for breath. Bilbo watched spellbound. He realized on their second lap that the swimmer didn’t have any shirt on, and he could see the muscles in their arms and back working. They were far more developed than any hobbit Bilbo had ever seen. He (and Bilbo just felt like it had to be a he with the lack of shirt) cut through the water easily until he circled back around to the center of the lake.

Bilbo watched with wide eyes, the birds, sky, and book forgotten. He barely breathed, not wanting to block out the sound of the male’s arms cutting through the water. His skin was pale, but it looked as if it glowed with life to Bilbo. The sheen of water against his skin looked like an aura of energy and Bilbo couldn’t believe anyone could do so much without needing breath.

And he did it so easily. He moved with the freedom of one who had never known what it was to not be athletic. To never know what it was to fear walking up a flight of stairs for lack of breath. He moved with the ease of a body that he knew wouldn’t fail him.

He moved with life.

Bilbo watched, utterly entranced by the activity and the essence of energy the male had as he ducked under and came back up, facing Bilbo’s direction. He threw his hair back and Bilbo got his first good look at him.

He had black hair that fell down the bottom of his back, thick hair that looked soft and well cared for. he had braids in the front, and large bead-like clasps that held them shut. He had a beard that was also braided, which told Bilbo that he was not looking at a hobbit, but a dwarf. He’d only seen a few dwarves in his life, all traders, and all from a far.

He brought his hands up to push the water off his face and Bilbo’s mouth popped open in surprise. He’d never seen someone with muscles like that.

The dwarf moved his hands and blinked, and Bilbo promptly dropped his eyes and scrambled to grab his book back up.

Eru, he looked like some sort of pervert. He was watching someone swim, and no one would ever believe he had simply been enraptured by how full of life the dwarf was.

Bilbo shoved his book in his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder before shooting up. He heard a splash and fought to keep his heart from pounding and his breath from growing short. It was something he had a lot of practice with.

The splashing grew more chaotic, and distant, and Bilbo risked a glance up. The dwarf was swimming towards the opposite shore where his clothes were piled up.

Bilbo bent down and grabbed his scarf and cloak. He tied his cloak on as the dwarf pulled himself out of the water. He only had a pair of soaked breeches on. Bilbo ducked behind a few of the bushes that lined the lake and watched as the dwarf scooped his clothes up. He looked frantically over his shoulder and paused. His eyes swept the shoreline, skipping right over Bilbo’s bush, and on to the edge of the lake. He took a half step forward and seemed to relax a bit.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to make of him. The dwarf very slowly set his clothes back down, his eyes locked on the opposite shore, and pulled a tunic from the pile. He tugged it on over his damp, furred chest and then quickly pulled a strange, plated armor shirt over it. He wrapped a cape around his shoulders and bundled the remaining items in his arms before disappearing into the woods.

Bilbo had no idea what to make of the strange occurrence. At the moment though, he had other worries.

He was late.

-[]-[]-[]-

Gandalf worried. It was to be expected, really, with Bilbo’s weak heart and everything, but the hobbit still found himself wishing he didn’t cause quite so much heartache for his loyal guardian.

He was sent to bed with a light lunch and took a two hour nap. He awoke feeling refreshed and Gandalf invited him to accompany him into town. Bilbo loved spending time with the wizard, and he rarely ever got to go into town so he accepted the invitation instantly.

Hobbiton was an amazing place. It was always bustling with carts and the sounds of hobbits haggling filled the air. There were bright colors to take in everywhere and a thousand different scents to partake in. It was like magic, and it made Bilbo feel as if his very skin was vibrating with an energy he could never really possess.

Gandalf was horribly business like when he went shopping, but he always let Bilbo wander off to look at the booths as long as he didn’t overexert himself. The wizard had a very keen eye and always knew within moments if Bilbo was tiring. He’d sweep in and, with a whoosh of his cloak, he’d take Bilbo back to their Hobbit hole. Bilbo hadn’t been out in a long while so he decided he’d take it easy today. He wanted to look at a few gardening tools-the days were growing warmer and he’d be able to plant a few vegetables soon-and that was it.

A quick look around showed only one cart with any gardening supplies. Bilbo picked his way through the crowd, ignoring the inquisitive or pitying glances sent his way. He knew he was a bit skinny for a hobbit, and that his skin was a little too pale, but that was hardly a reason to stare.

Not that Bilbo was unaccustomed to staring. It was his experience that people seemed to always be able to pick out whoever wasn’t ‘normal’ in a crowd and instantly zero all attention on that individual, even if they weren’t actually staring at them. Nope. Staring was something Bilbo had been apart of since the first time he passed out. Now he just mostly ignored it and went about his business. He might have actually found it odder if they ignored him.

The gardening tools were made of iron and of excellent quality. Bilbo could tell that before he even reached the cart. They had handles made of green stone that the metal of the actual tool part was wrapped around in delicate twist made to look like vines. They were beautiful to look at and Bilbo instantly itched to hold them. Though, the lovely tools would be wasted on his modest garden. When Bilbo finally reached the cart he instantly reached out and brushed the tip of his finger against the smooth stone.

“How much for these beauties?” He didn’t want to take his eyes off the tools but it was horribly rude to do business with a hobbit without looking them in the eye before making an offer. He raised his gaze and had to clench his jaw to keep from gaping.

He recognized the dark haired and strong jawed dwarf. He’d seen him swimming only a few hours ago.

Eru, he was even more imposing up close.

Thinking him muscular had been a bit of a disservice really. This dwarf nearly shone with might. He had the sleeves on his tunic and armored shirt pushed up, baring his arms and his clothing was better fitted than it had appeared from the distant shore. He cut a thoroughly impressive figure that left Bilbo very conscious of how not impressive he was.

“Beauties?” The dwarf asked in mild amusement. “The set or individuals?”

“Yes, beauties.” Bilbo said decisively before he swallowed and dropped his gaze back to the tools. “They’re the loveliest I’ve ever seen. The set, if you please. It would be a crime to separate them.”

“Fifty for the set.” The dwarf’s tone was lighter than his first words had been. Bilbo considered the tools and how much he had in his purse. That would be most of his money, and it would be a while before Gandalf gave him any more. Still, he needed new tools and he’d already half fallen in love with these. He could do without a new notebook and quill for a while.

“Fifty for iron tools is an excellent price.” Bilbo said as grabbed his purse from his side and tugged the strings loose. He poured out fifty worth of coins and attached the purse back to his belt before handing the money over to the dwarf who took it with a look of surprise.

“You can tell their metal?” Bilbo looked back down at the tools and nodded his head in confusion.

“Aren’t they? Their coloring is iron more than steel. They’re too heavy for the other metal as well.”

The dwarf smiled. It was a quick thing that was gone almost before his lips were fully up. Bilbo had a feeling he’d be breathtaking if he gave a full smile. As was Bilbo wasn’t sure how much he should look at him. He didn’t know if the dwarf had caught a glimpse of him and he didn’t want to be caught out.

“They are indeed made of iron ore. The handles are jade.”

Bilbo relaxed and risked a bit longer of a look at the dwarf’s face. He had sharp features, a long nose, piercing eyes, and a strong jaw. His beard was gathered into a single braid with a single bead in the same style as the ones that clasped his other braids.

Bilbo thought him rather handsome.

“Did you make them? I’m Bilbo by the way.”

“Thorin,” The dwarf replied as he wrapped the tools in a thin sheet of paper. “Yes, I made them.”

“They’re very well made.” Bilbo watched him wrap the last tool up. “Far better than anything else I’d find in the Shire.”

Thorin put them into a paper bag and raised his eyebrow. “Thank you. It’s not often a hobbit appreciates workmanship.”

Bilbo felt vaguely like his race had just been insulted. He might have taken offence if he didn’t agree, and if the dwarf wasn’t so pleasant to look at. “Yes, well, it takes a bit to get a hobbit excited about any sort of craftsmanship outside the brewing of ales.”

Thorin gave a quiet chuckle and Bilbo felt a surge of pride at the sound. Thorin looked mildly surprised with himself as he handed the items over. Bilbo took the package and paused when Thorin didn’t immediately release his hold. He narrowed his eyes and studied Bilbo.

“Have we met before, Mister Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s cheeks (traitorously!) flushed and he shook his head a bit frantically “I should think not. I’m rarely at the market and I should have remembered meeting so fine a craftsman.” That was perhaps laying it on a bit thick but he couldn’t have the dwarf remembering that he’d seen him swimming nearly naked. There was no way to bring that up in polite company.

And Bilbo could never tell him that he’d certainly stared.

“Well then, I hope to see more of you, Mister Bilbo.”

“And I you, Master Thorin.” He took the tools and with a final smile, Bilbo went to find Gandalf.

He vaguely wondered if he had just made a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

_I believe what doesn't kill you just makes you stranger.  
-The Dark Knight_

* * *

 

He had made a friend, as it turned out.

Bilbo did well on the initial trip to the market. Which meant that with a little prodding Gandalf let him go to the town every other day or so. Bilbo explored a little the first two trips, but he drifted back to Thorin’s booth each time. He always had interesting wares, and he knew all about the going ons of the wide world. Bilbo told him of Shire life in return for the information, and a friendship grew out of it.

After five such trips, Bilbo started to look forward to the trips more than anything else. They were the highlights of his week.

Thorin never spoke of his family, and Bilbo didn’t ask. In return the dwarf never asked about Bilbo’s family, or lack thereof. Despite all the things they couldn’t talk about (dwarves had rather a long list of taboo subjects) Bilbo never had trouble talking to Thorin. It was easy.

He didn’t make Bilbo feel socially awkward, and he helped him _forget_. That was something really hard to do. Bilbo was excellent at not forgetting.

“What do you want to do, Bilbo?” Thorin asked as he casually bussed a teapot. Bilbo was perched on the edge of a chair he’d snagged from the Green Dragon and crocheting. It was a peaceful craft that Lily Cotton had taught him. Bilbo shrugged with a smile and leaned back against his chair. The breeze seemed to caress his face and he reveled in the wind’s gentle touch.

“A smoke seems a good idea right now.” Bilbo cracked one eye open and peered at Thorin who was studying Bilbo’s hands working the hook and yarn with inquisitive eyes. He always looked like he was trying to understand the hobbit. Almost like he was a complicated mystery that Thorin couldn’t help but be fascinated by.

It was flattering to be looked at for a reason other than his illness.

“I was referring to life in general.” Thorin said wryly. He raised an eyebrow at Bilbo who responded with a grin. A grin that sort of slipped away when he considered the question. His eyes drifted out across the market to look at the many hobbits bustling about their daily business. They were unaware, or caring, of his presence. They wouldn’t mind his heavy gaze.

He didn’t have anything he could do. He had dreams of course. An entire list of silly little things he’d like to do before he...well...before the end. But he’d never really thought about it before. He’d never really allowed himself to think about it. He didn’t know how long he had to live, and he knew he wasn’t allowed to travel by himself in case he had a dizzy spell.

“I don’t really know. I have a list of things I’d like to do someday, like seeing a mountain, spending a night awake watching the stars, writing a story… But I don’t really have a plan for my life. Nor do I know what craft I’d like to go in.”

“You’re quite adept at that.” Thorin said with a nod to Bilbo’s yarn. He looked down and considered the nearly finished fingerless mitt. It had never actually occurred to him to sell his crocheting. He mostly gave the items away. Gandalf had several scarves and gloves of his, as well as a sweater he almost never took off. Lily’s daughter was always wrapped in one of his blankets, and the Gamgees’ made good use of his pot holders.

“You know, I never even thought about this as a craft.” He finished another two stitches and considered the length. It was the same as the other mitt. He fastened it off and went to work weaving the end into the rest of the mitt so it wouldn’t come unraveled. Thorin continued to watch his fingers work with frank fascination.

Bilbo enjoyed the attention. More than he would ever admit. Not that he could actually admit why he enjoyed it. That was on the list of the things he couldn’t have. A friend was it for him. It wasn’t fair to want anything else.  

“Bilbo!” Gandalf’s voice echoed through the market, coming nearer. Thorin looked through the crowd to where the Wizard probably was and beckoned him over with a hand in the air. Bilbo quickly put his yarn away and tucked his hook into his bag. He stood up slowly, suddenly aware of just how tired he was. He felt Gandalf come up behind him and he smiled at the worried face.

“Time to go?” Gandalf nodded, his blue-grey eyes sweeping over Bilbo and assessing his condition. Thorin never commented on how protective Gandalf was of him. Bilbo was grateful for that. It was awkward enough being fully of age and still having to respond to an adult like a child.

He fingered the mitts, his eyes on the ground and swallowed. They were made from a bright blue wool with silver edging. It was modeled after colors he was always seeing Thorin dressed in. He hoped they fit. “Here you go.” He handed them to Thorin without meeting the dwarf’s eyes. This part always made him irrationally scared. He was always worried the person he crafted for would dislike what he made.

It was silly but he always was scared it would be a reflection on him. That they would dislike the gift and dislike him as an extension. He only ever made things for people he liked. He valued their opinions it was terrifying. He could always see all the flaws in his pieces.

Thorin took them and ran his calloused fingers over the soft but sturdy yarn. Bilbo risked a look at the dwarf’s face and relaxed at the pleased smile there. “Thank you, Bilbo.” He slipped them on and flexed his fingers. “You truly could sell these.”

“If that is all, I’m afraid we’re due back at the hole.” Gandalf gently tugged Bilbo back and the hobbit went. He gave a final wave to Thorin who waved back with mitt covered hands. He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

And he was so tired.

“Are you well, Bilbo?” Gandalf’s piercing eyes missed nothing. The wizard guided him with a hand on the small of his back and Bilbo was grateful that it relieved him of the pressure of watching where he went. He let his feet simply go forward of their own accord and focused on breathing steadily. He would take a nap when he got home.

“I’m fine, just a little tired.” Gandalf frowned and stepped closer. They made it out of the market place and started down the worn path that led into the bog where they lived.

“So, Thorin Oakenshield?” Bilbo startled at the unexpected question and nearly tripped. Gandalf caught him as he always did.

“He’s nice.” Bilbo replied once he righted himself. “Easy to talk to.” There was more to it than that, but Gandalf wouldn’t press him. He never pressed Bilbo.

“I have never heard a dwarf described as ‘easy to talk to.’” Gandalf observed wryly.

Bilbo smiled and trudged along, even though his legs felt like they were covered in bog mud and moving them felt tantamount to moving a boulder. Why was he always so tired? It was only a little after three. He’d done nothing taxing today. The most strenuous thing he had done had been making the mitten and that was hardly a great feat.

“Well, this one is.” His words slurred a little and he had to slow down at a sudden bout of dizziness. Gandalf’s arms came around him and Bilbo’s world tilted before going completely black.

-[]-[]-[]-

Gandalf’s arms were warm around him, and the age-old cloak was soft against his cheek. He wasn’t held often, Bilbo didn’t allow himself to be held often, but it was comforting whenever the wizard would indulge him with a cuddle.

“I am sorry, Aew nín, (my little bird)” Gandalf whispered with a brush of his hand against Bilbo’s cheek. The weathered fingers were gentle, barely more than a breath against his face. “But it cannot be helped. I had wished that we would not have had to make the journey, but time is not on our side.”

“I don’t mind.” Bilbo replied, barely awake. He was comfortable and felt safe in the hold. He was too old to be held like this, probably, but he was so tired of everything. He didn’t have the energy to spare on caring if he was proper. “It’ll be fun. Like an adventure.”

They’d already had this conversation a half dozen times. Gandalf always seemed to feel guilty about Bilbo’s condition. It made the hobbit sad to be such a burden on someone’s mind.

Gandalf chuckled low in his throat before mumbling something to Shadowfax about speeding up. The carriage jostled as they hit a bump and Gandalf tightened his hold. They’d reach the caravan any minute now, and as much as Bilbo was enjoying the safe warmth of Gandalf’s hold, he did have some self respect. He sighed and pulled free of Gandalf’s arms. The wizard helped him to the next seat and took the reins back up.

They would head to Greenwood. It was where Thranduil resided. Lord Thranduil was the best heart healer in all of Middle Earth. Gandalf had been trying to arrange for him to come see Bilbo in the Shire for the last ten years, but the roads to Greenwood had grown perilous. The elf king could not risk the journey.

Gandalf had been content to wait until the paths could be cleared, but Bilbo had passed out. His hearts time was running out. Lily wasn’t even sure they had six months left.

Bilbo had been preparing to die for years, but it was strange to have an actual number. Six months. About a 180 days total.  It seemed both real and unreal. There was a little hope, of course. If Bilbo managed to survive the perilous journey, Thranduil might be able to mend his heart.

Bilbo doubted it. He’d heard enough stories, and read enough books to know how utterly rare such a thing really was.

“They’re ahead. Brace yourself, and do not speak if you do not have to. We do not want them to know about your condition if we can help it.” Bilbo nodded his head and sat up straight. He righted his hat and tried not to look like he could fall asleep standing.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.” Gandalf pulled Shadowfax to a stop and slid off the bench at the front of the carriage with grace that had probably been hundreds of years learned. He helped Bilbo hop down and patted the straw hat he wore to keep the sun from becoming too much. Gandalf took his hand and led him towards a group of dwarves who were talking and packing. The rest of the caravan. There were at least a dozen gathered around, all with cloaks of various colors. There were tall dwarves, short dwarves, old dwarves, young dwarves, and even a few that were clearly fighters.

Bilbo’s stomach swooshed and his heart rate quickened. He would be spending the next month and a half with these dwarves. They were heading to the kingdom of Erebor and had agreed to let Gandalf accompany them to the forest. He had bartered gold and protection for their passage.

Bilbo would sit with Gandalf at the front of the wagon when he felt well and the days were nice. The carriage would provide perfect covering on the bad days. No one would have to be any the wiser either.

One of the dwarves nearest them, a tall burly dwarf, strode forward with purposeful steps. He had grey hair mingled with strands of black and white. His beard was large and rough looking. He had tattoos on the top of his bald head, and he was missing a chunk of his ear. Scars decorated his skin almost as much as the blue rune tattoos, and he just had an air of ‘do not mess with me’ that made Bilbo swallow thickly.

“Gandalf?” He gruffed. It was a growl and a huff and made Bilbo want to hide behind Gandalf’s robes.

“Yes, Mister Dwalin?” The dwarf gave his head a nod in Bilbo’s direction. The hobbit stood straighter and tried to appear as if he did this sort of thing every day. “This is my ward, Bilbo Baggins.”

Ward. It would have made him laugh at any other time. Gandalf was essentially his dad. Ward was far too impersonal for their relationship.

“Are you certain you wish to bring him?” The burly dwarf asked. He eyed Bilbo distastefully. His gaze was heavy and left Bilbo feeling half his actual height. He felt as if he had dirt on his cheek and raggedy clothes. Shameful, as if he didn’t belong in public. “The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

That did it. Bilbo sucked in a breath, and careless of how small he felt, he released a _loud_ sigh. He knew what was coming now. The dwarf apparently didn’t recognize Gandalf’s pointy hat and staff for what they were. The accessories of a _wizard_. The hand Gandalf had set on his shoulder grew heavy as the Wizard stood to his full height. He glowered down at the dwarf, no longer stooping. The power in his veins thrummed to life, and Bilbo could feel static charge the air with energy. The trees near them creaked and swayed, and the wind whistled around them. He glanced up and was mildly amused to see that Gandalf had even gone so far as to summon rain clouds. That seemed a bit excessive to him. It could be argued that the misguided dwarf was simply looking out for Bilbo.

Rudely, of course. Then again, dwarves did most everything rudely.

The dwarf’s eyes widened. “I am not gentle, Master Dwarf.” Gandalf warned in a voice as deep as the earth. He tugged Bilbo to stand in front of him and pointedly moved his staff so it was crossed in front of Bilbo in a blatantly protective way that even a one eyed troll couldn’t miss. “And Bilbo Baggins is under my care… And protection.”  The dwarf inclined his head respectfully and went to help one of the other, younger dwarves, pack up their belongings. They were all trying to look like they hadn’t just been gaping at the wizard and hobbit.

“You didn’t have to summon the cloud.”

Gandalf harrumphed. “Well, they are now aware of just who I am.”

“And they will now not talk to me.”

“Is that so bad, Aew nín?”

“It’ll be lonely.” Bilbo observed wryly. He shrugged and looked back at all the dwarves. There were twelve of them in total. A few of them were obviously related. They’d all broken off into groups of two or three to finish securing their ponies. While Gandalf had the only carriage, there were two wagons laden with supplies.

“I wonder where our leader is.”

“Was it not Dwalin?” Bilbo asked in surprise. The burly dwarf was talking to a dwarf with white hair and a beard that flipped out at the ends. The older dwarf was laughing at whatever Dwalin said. Bilbo had trouble imagine the burly dwarf actually being funny. His face didn’t look like it could make anything even similar to a smile.

“Indeed not. He is the guard.” Gandalf passed Bilbo a bundle of clothes with what felt like a book inside. “Be a champ and put this in the carriage?” Bilbo accepted the cotton wrapped something and nodded his head. The packed dirt of the path was smooth and warm under his feet and he didn’t mind the short walk to the back of the carriage. He secured it in the trunk with the rest of his belongings. He considered grabbing a walking stick. There was a small chance Gandalf might allow him to walk for the first part of their journey. He’d be less inclined to deny him if he already had the walking stick.

No. He’d wait for later. He’d been napping just minutes earlier.

Gandalf was missing by the time he returned to Shadowfax’s side. He gazed back over the rest of the dwarves, meeting a few curious stares with a friendly smile, and found his wizard talking to a dark-haired dwarf. The dwarf had his back to Bilbo, but the locks were the same color and style as Thorin.

It made his chest ache dully. He’d left a letter with Lily to give to the dwarf in his absence. It explained what had happened, and why Bilbo had been missing for the last few days, and would be missing for a good deal longer.

He had never gotten to say goodbye to his friend.

“Hello!” Two extremely chipper voices pipped from either side. Bilbo jerked in surprised and spun around. He stepped back and looked at the two dwarves. They were young by dwarf standards, and were almost bouncing with excitement and happiness.

The one on the left had thick blond hair that was braided back intricately, with several silver beads clasping them. His mustache was braided as well, and his greyish-green eyes sparkled with mischief. He had tanned skin and was wearing a furred surcoat over a maile shirt. He had four swords that Bilbo could see strapped to his body, as well as two throwing axes.

The dwarf on the right was younger with dark brown hair. He had no braids, or beads, but had his hair pulled away from his face by an intricately engraved silver clasp. His brown eyes were cheerful and equally as mischief. He was paler than the other, and leaner. He had a surcoat as well, though his was a mix of leather and wool. He had a bow strapped over his back and a single sword belted at his side.

“You must be Master Boggins!” The brown hair dwarf exclaimed. “Welcome to the company.” Then, they spoke together.

“Fíli”

“And Kíli”

“At your service.” They bowed together and Bilbo tried to make his eyes not open quite so wide. Fíli, the blond dwarf, straightened first and Bilbo realized he was just gaping. Kíli straightened as well and Bilbo bowed.

“Bilbo _Baggins_ , at yours.”

“Baggins?” Kíli asked with a wrinkled nose. “But Balin said you lived in a bog?”

A laugh bubbled out Bilbo’s throat before he could quite stop it. Both Fíli’s and Kíli’s faces spread in large grins and Bilbo decided to just let his laugh loose. “I do, but it doesn’t affect my name.”

“Well then, we’re at your service, Master _Baggins_ of the bog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aew nín == Little Bird. This name will pop up A LOT in my fic. :D I'll remind you periodically encase it slips your mind :)
> 
> Now, I forgot to say anything at the end of my last chapter :O 
> 
> I started writing this story at the same time as 'Ere the Break of Day.' I wrote both of their first chapters and then had a mild panic attack while I tried to decide who to write first. It was terrible. Like trying to chose between children. However, I went to see the Desolation of Smaug again and the end left me crying pathetically because terrible FEELS are on the way in the next movie. So I decided that I needed my twist-the-cannon-to-a-happily-ever-after before my AU. That's why this was posted so quickly.
> 
> That and I really do almost nothing at my work but answer the phone 4-5 times a day and type. I need something to post so I'm not talking to myself. I start to sound like Gollum and that's not good for anyone, Precious.
> 
> Anywho! This is just an idea that popped in my head while watching 'A Walk to Remember' with my sister. (Who really needs to like happier things.) And I thought: what if Bilbo was dying when he fell in love with Thorin? What would that be like? And poof, new story idea. 
> 
> So, read away and let me know what you think. :) I'll respond to everyone. Ask my readers, I'm chatty ;)


	3. Chapter 3

_No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny._  
 _He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold._  
 _Like everyone, he must live and learn.  
_ _-Merlin: The Dragon's Call_

* * *

 

Fíli adjusted his stance and rattled slightly from the number of arms he was carrying. “Have you met anyone else yet?”

Bilbo shook his head. He liked the brothers. He assumed they were brothers at least. They had an easy manner and seemed full to bursting with excitement. Bilbo was excited just being near them. “No, we’ve only just arrived.”

“That’s right!” Kíli nearly crowed, “you came with a wizard!” Bilbo nodded his head and tried not to look too amused. He didn’t want to be insulting.

“Well, you know Kíli and me now,” Fíli said as if Kíli hadn’t just bounced with excitement at the prospect of a wizard. “The gruff dwarf is Dwalin, and Balin is his older brother. He knows pretty much anything you could ever want to know. Those,” he pointed to three dwarves by three ponies. One was rather large with ginger hair that he had braided in a loop. He had a laughing, brown haired dwarf on his right with a hat that tipped up at the edges. It would have looked quite odd if he wasn’t standing beside a dwarf that had a bit of axe impeded in his head. That kind of drew attention away from everything else about the trio.

“Those are the family Ur. The big dwarf is Bombur, the hatted dwarf is his brother Bofur, and the one with the axe is their cousin, Bifur. The Brothers Ri are right beside them.”

The three brothers were quite funny to watch. The youngest had gingery hair in a simple bowl cut with a few strands braided. He had wide eyes and was wearing a knit sweater and hand warmers that Bilbo couldn’t help but admire. He was clutching a book to his chest and watching his other brothers with wide eyes. One of them had ginger hair that was styled in the shape of a star, and was desperately holding onto a burlap bag that the third brother was trying to grab away. He had grey hair that was braided in the most complicated style Bilbo had ever seen. He was dressed finely and was scowling at the star-haired brother. “Dori is the one with the scowl, Nori is the one that has the star hair, and Ori is the youngest.”

“That’s Glóin and Óin. He’s nearly deaf.” Kíli added before Fíli could. He pointed to a bored looking ginger haired dwarf and an elderly grey haired dwarf that was holding something to his ear.

“There’s us, and of course-” Fíli said with a quick point at his brother and himself.

“Uncle!” Kíli interrupted with a shout.

“What are you two-Bilbo?” Bilbo jolted in utter shock at the familiar deep cadence. He felt Gandalf come up beside him and he slowly turned to see if it was indeed the voice he knew so well.

Thorin stood in front of him with wide eyes and a pleasantly surprised expression. Bilbo’s stomach flipped and he found himself gaping rather like the fish in his bog. The dwarf was dressed in a fur surcoat similar to Fíli’s, but it was more designed. He had a blue weskit on with an armored shirt over top. A large blade was strapped to his side, as well as a battle axe. His hair was loose, save for two braids, and his beard was neatly braided and clasped.

He was wearing Bilbo’s hand warmers. It made him breathless and his cheeks heated in pleased embarrassment.

“M-master Thorin! I had no idea you were leading this caravan.” Bilbo blurted, his voice almost squeaky. Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder and Bilbo’s cheeks grew even warmer. Eru. There had to be witnesses to his inability to think clearly when Thorin surprised him with his presence.

“You know Uncle? How do you know Uncle? Uncle! You’ve been keeping secrets!” Kíli rambled at an impressive speed that had Thorin’s eyebrow raising as his smile smoothed out to hardly noticeable amusement.

“This is Bilbo Baggins. He is a hobbit whom I’ve become acquainted with in the last month and a half.” Thorin returned his gaze to Bilbo and his lips lifted the slightest bit as his eyes softened. “I had not seen you in the last week. I lamented that I would not be able to tell you that I was leaving for Erebor for a while, my friend.”

 _Friend_. Thorin called him a friend in front of family.

“I-I was disposed, I’m afraid.” Bilbo mumbled, his heart picking up speed. He focused on breathing steadily and keeping his face from smiling too largely. He didn’t want to look completely crazy. “I left a letter with a friend of mine to give to you explaining my own absence. I’m glad you won’t have to receive it.”

Thorin’s eyes flickered with an emotion Bilbo didn’t recognize. It was gone before he could decipher it.

“The last of the arrangements have been taken care of.” Gandalf said, drawing everyone's attention again. Bilbo glanced at him before letting his gaze return to Thorin while Gandalf spoke about the safety measures he would provide. Thorin listened with an intense gaze that didn’t waver the slightest bit. Everything about Thorin seemed to be intense. The only time he seemed to relax was when he released a rare laugh.

Bilbo loved his laugh. It was always quick and loud. Startling whoever had the pleasure of hearing it as much as releasing it seemed to startle Thorin.

“-is all, we will return to our carriage and await your lead.”

Thorin nodded his head regally and turned his gaze back on Bilbo. “That is acceptable. Fíli, Kíli, with me.” He turned and strode back towards a brown pony. He climbed atop her while his nephews climbed their own mounts. Gandalf stepped up to the bench and waited patiently for Bilbo to join him.

“Did you know?” The bench would have been hard but Gandalf put a blanket down for him to sit on top of. He was remarkably considerate.

“That Thorin Thraínson was going to be leading this particular group of dwarves? Yes.”

Bilbo settled back and pulled another blanket over his lap. “And you didn’t tell me because?”

Gandalf kept his gaze ahead and urged Shadowfax forward as the group started on the open road. “Because I did not wish to excite you for nothing. Leaders change frequently. I could not be certain he would truly lead us until we had set off.”

The wizard turned his head the slightest bit to regard Bilbo from under his bushy eyebrows. “I didn’t want to tax your heart for nothing, Aew nín.” The words were heavy, and seemed to bring the journey to the reality that it was. He was going to see an elf for his final chance at life. Fate had been kind in awarding him friends for the trip, but he couldn’t hold onto hope that it would succeed.

He didn’t want to face _that_ reality when it would fade. He would reach the woods and find that he was too far for aid. It would hurt all the worse if he imagined it would actually work.

So Bilbo closed his eyes instead. He let the breeze caress his face and the sun warm his skin. He could hear the ‘company’ talking excitedly over the rumbling of the wagons and carriage on the road. He let himself focus on all of that and pretended that he was going on an adventure. A wonderful journey that could never be expected and would lead to the most fantastic of occurrences.

He’d allow himself the momentary distraction before the storm.

-[]-[]-[]-

The conversation that drifted around while they rode had seemed lively and excited.

Which just went to show how little Bilbo actually knew about dwarves. Because, when they finally settled down to set camp, it got loud. They tied all the horses and ponies to the trees and allowed them and set two dwarves to tend to them while they set up a fire and started dinner.

It had seemed like a solemn affair when Thorin barked the orders out.

Then Bombur had started boiling the water for soup and the conversation had started.

Bilbo could not figure out how they did it. There were at least twenty topics being talked about, half in a different language, and everyone of them were tangled together with each of the others. Everyone was talking over each other, but no one was missing what was being said.

They tossed the cutlery and bowls to each other and did it to the beat of a song that Bofur started playing in the middle of the conversation. They all seemed to know the tune and a few of the dwarves started to dance while they set the camp up.

Thorin took care of securing the perimeter with Dwalin and Glóin. He didn’t look like it was anything out of the ordinary.  Gandalf took the entire thing in with mild amusement and helped set Bilbo on a log near the fire and away from the majority of the chaos that was the dwarves.

He was watching the dancing, drinking, laughing, and general merrymaking with such amusement that it took him several minutes to realize one of the dwarves had sat next to him.

“Hello,” the dwarf, Ori, said with a small grin. “Do you mind me sitting here? I’m taking a moment away from Dori.”

“No, feel free to hide away as long as you want. I know the feeling. Gandalf is never more than an arm reach from me.”

“Present time included.” The wizard called with an amused smirk. Bilbo grinned and winked. Gandalf looked relaxed, which was more than Bilbo had hoped for. They’d made the first leg of their journey without hinderance. He could see the wizard already starting to believe it might be possible.

“And he proves my point.” Bilbo said with his grin still in place as he turned back to the knit covered Ori. The dwarf was pulling a bundle of yarn and two needles from his jacket with a relieved smile. “Did you make your sweater? I always found seed stitching difficult.”

Ori looked delighted at Bilbo’s knitting knowledge. Bilbo hoped it was the start of a friendship. He had a feeling he’d have very few chances to talk with Thorin. Dwalin, Balin, and his nephews had taken up most of his attention.

They started up a conversation about yarn types and the difficulties of sleeves. Bilbo barely noticed when Gandalf brought them their dinner, and he certainly didn’t realize that it had grown quieter until he finished his soup.

“Well I’ve always found that felting is po-” he cut off abruptly when he realized he couldn’t hear anything but himself.  He glanced out around the fire to find most everyone had sat down, and that they were all staring at him. With his observation of them they all sprang back into their numerous conversations.

Bilbo blushed and looked back at Ori who was blushing as well.

“Umm,” he started, feeling horribly awkward.

“They’re curious.” Ori said. “We only meet hobbits on rare occasions. Usually just at market. We never get to learn anything about them.”

“Did I do something odd?”

“No,” Ori shook his head and grinned again. It made him look even younger and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder how old the dwarf was. “They just have trouble keeping their nose out of other peoples business. Then there’s also the fact that you know Mister Thorin-”

“I met him in the marketplace, actually.”

“Really?” Ori looked intrigued. “Was it because of -”

“I’m afraid I have to borrow Bilbo for a while.” Gandalf declared. Bilbo hadn’t seen him walk up and he was helpless against the tiny jump of surprise he reacted with. Gandalf noticed and his eyes narrowed in worry. Bilbo stood swiftly and took a calming breath.

“Ah well, I’m afraid my escape has ended. I’ll see you later, Master Ori?”

“Yes, I have another yarn to show you. It’s made from a special kind of goat.”

Bilbo grinned easily, feeling lighter even as his energy waned. “I look forward to it.” Gandalf led him toward the carriages with a firm hand at the small of his back. He could feel the others eyes on him, but it wasn’t the heavy stare he usually felt from hobbits. It wasn’t pitying or knowing, it was simply curious. The same curiosity he felt towards all of them.

Gandalf opened the carriage door and helped him inside before following him in. Óin was sitting on the left bench. He had a pot of tea in his left hand a cup in his right.

“This is Óin. He is the only dwarf in the company who is aware of your situation.” Gandalf indicated for Bilbo to sit so he did. This was familiar.

Óin stood up and set his pot and cup down on the vacated bench. He pointed to Bilbo’s chest. “May I?”

Bilbo nodded his head. Fili had said the dwarf was deaf earlier and he didn’t care to shout out the following conversations.

Óin slipped his vest off and carefully unbuttoned Bilbo’s shirt with large fingers that were surprisingly dexterous. He pushed the cotton fabric back and laid his warm hands against Bilbo’s chest and back. He had him breath deeply and try coughing. He felt his pulse for several long minutes and set his ‘ear trumpet’ against Bilbo’s chest to listen to his heart. He mumbled quietly to himself all the while, occasionally nodding his head or harrumphing.

Finally he sat back down, being mindful of where the pot and cup were, and looked at Bilbo.

“Do you get a lot of sun?”

“I sit outside for a little while most every day. Only when I’m really tired or it’s not sunny do I stay in all day.” Óin nodded his head like he had suspected that. “Do you wear a hat?”

“When I remember.”

“Then it’s your illness that has caused your paleness.” Óin scribbled something down in a tiny leather notebook that he had stored in his pocket. He glanced up at Bilbo and squinted before looking back at his paper. “I’d agree with Miss Lily. It seems he has a weak heart.”

“Then you still prescribe the tea?” Gandalf asked diplomatically. Óin nodded and lifted the pot up delicately. He poured a bit of brown liquid into the cup and passed the steaming drink to Bilbo.

It smelled foul.

“What is this?” Bilbo asked carefully. He swirled it around the glass and tried not to breath through his nose.

“Something you’ll enjoy more with ignorance on your side.”

Bilbo nodded his head and took a sip. It’s taste made it’s smell seem like rosepetals. He promptly gulped it down, not caring that it burned his throat, and hopped he didn’t gag it all back up.

He could taste garlic, lavender, chokeberry, and rosehip for certain. That mix alone had him leery to know what else was in the drink.

“I’ll make you a batch of this twice a day. You’ll drink a pot  for breakfast and a pot after dinner. Chew on some anise after you’re done to take care of your breath.” He shuffled through his pockets while he talked before he located and pulled out a jar of oil. “Rub this,” he passed the jar to Bilbo, “on your chest before bed. Don’t be stingy with it. Pick out your oldest shirt because this will ruin it.”

He sat back in his seat and recovered the tea cup. He poured another dose and passed it back to Bilbo. The hobbit dutifully drank it. He was quite proud at himself. He hardly grimaced at all. “Now… About the riding-”

“I would like to if I’m able.” Bilbo interjected before Gandalf could say anything. The wizard instantly looked disapproving. “It’s not very taxing and I do enjoy sunshine.”

“The other dwarves will be loud and rough. It’s not in our nature to be gentle with anything but stone.”

Bilbo smiled wryly. “Master Óin, I would be insulted if you even tried to be gentle.”

Óin barked out a loud laugh and slapped his knee. “You are feisty!” He looked to Gandalf. “I have nothing against him sitting on the horse. It would probably do him some good.”

Gandalf inclined his head. “Very well.”

Óin’s face became stern once again. He leaned forward in his seat and held Bilbo with his gaze. “Follow my orders, whatever they are, to the letter, and I will see you to Greenwood, lad.”

Bilbo held out his hand to the healer. “You have a deal, Master Óin.”

-[]-[]-[]-

He sat back by the fire for the last few hours of the evening before Gandalf would send him to bed.

That was when he finally got to talk to Thorin again. The dwarf sat beside him and bumped his shoulder in a companionable way that made Bilbo’s stomach flip ridiculously.

Not only was _Thorin_ acknowledging him, he was treating him like one of the dwarves. He started up an easy conversation and Bilbo responded in kind.

He wasn’t sure how they ended up talking about the time he had set Gandalf’s robes on fire, or the time that Gandalf had turned his kitten into a tiger, or how Thorin went from there to a time that he managed to knock a statue of Durin off the walkway when he was a dwarfling. It had Thorin laughing though, so he was glad they’d gotten to it.

Fíli and Kíli joined them at some point. The two dwarves made any exploits that Thorin and Bilbo had managed look tame. His earliest assessment of them had been quite correct.

They were trouble. Even Thorin looked mildly alarmed by the sheer number of stories they had to tell.

It felt… normal. Bilbo wondered if this what what healthy people did everyday. Hang out with friends and laugh after dark.

It was marvelous.

He had never laughed so much in his life. He felt warm all over, partly from the fire, but mostly from the quiet joy thrumming in his veins. He was exhausted by the time Gandalf stood up in a signal that it was his bedtime, but he hardly cared. He would pass out for days to keep his current feeling.

“Allow me to walk you to your carriage?” Thorin asked, rising with Bilbo. Gandalf watched from the other side of the fire with a raised brow. He gave his head a subtle nod and Bilbo nearly beamed.

“Thank you.” It was only a few feet to the dark brown carriage but it was a star filled night and Bilbo felt a little like he was ending a date.

It was a fun, if wistful, thought.

Thorin didn’t say anything until they reached the steps. He peered up at the sky before looking back at Bilbo and nodding. “The evening was quite enjoyable, Bilbo.”

“I had fun too.” He always found it funny how proper Thorin could make everything sound. The dwarf seemed to radiate good breeding. Bilbo had naively assumed it was simply a dwarvish trait. “I had feared this would be a dull, lonely journey. I am glad to see it will not be so.”

Thorin studied Bilbo with light eyes that made him want to shiver. Thorin’s gaze was always intense. “Indeed, I would agree.” He glanced at the door. “Whatever the journey will bring, I do not think it will be dull.” He gave his head another decisive nod and stepped back. “Goodnight, Daghel.” He said with a solemn expression. It was hard to buy with the way his eyes were dancing.

“Daghel?” Bilbo inquired. Thorin smirked.

“A khuzdul word.”

“Which means?” Bilbo asked with a tilt of his head. Thorin’s expression softened the slightest bit and Bilbo’s heart beat faster. He kept breathing steadily and thanked Yavanna that he had spent most of his day sitting.

“You will learn in time, Master Bilbo.” He bowed and took a step back, his eyes still sparkling with mirth. “Until tomorrow.” He then turned and walked back to the fire to sit by Balin’s side. Bilbo watched him go with a strange little tug in his stomach.

“Until tomorrow, Thorin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Durin's beard! You lot all came out of the wood work this weekend. I never get such a quick reaction to my stories O.O
> 
> I'm glad you're all enjoying it so far! Thank you for the many kudos and comments :D Feel free to pop in with any questions/ideas you may have. :) This is my fourth Thilbo Bagginshield story, but my first that is so... angsty? Anyway, enjoy the update!
> 
> Also, to anyone who speaks khuzdul and knows what Thorin is saying, please do not spoil it! I'll explain the word and why it's being used later. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

_ "You and me, we're all that's left. So, uh, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together."   
-Supernatural: The Scarecrow _

 

* * *

 

They fell into a schedule after the first week.

Bilbo would sleep in late each day. Gandalf would secure him in the carriage and have Shadowfax follow directly behind Thorin. Then, after noon, Bilbo would wake up, eat a light lunch, and sit next to Gandalf on the front bench of the carriage. Depending on the terrain, he would be able to chat with Thorin at this time. If he became too tired he would retire and take another nap before dinner.

Dinner was always a loud, rambunctious affair. Bilbo claimed a spot near the fire and far from the center of the rowdiness to watch it all unfold. Ori usually joined him for this junction and they worked on their yarns with each other. Ori was knitting a scarf for his suitor, while Bilbo was working on a silver scarf for Gandalf. This was the most relaxing portion of the day. Bilbo could just enjoy sitting with someone who understood the thrill of finding a new type of yarn.

Bombur and Bofur would usually join him for the actual eating portion of the dinner. Ori was always dragged away by Dori at that point.

After dinner Bombur and Bofur would go tend to their cousin, Bifur. He had fought in a battle at Khazad Dûm (or Moria in the common tongue) and had been hit by an orc. The remainder of the axe couldn’t be removed without additional injury. That made it where Bifur could only talk in khuzdul and iglishmêk. He also tended to go off in berzerk rages if he was startled. He was easily frightened by bugs that he hadn’t seen coming, and he got confused about where he was.

He was a splendid toymaker. He made Bilbo a little bird on their sixth day traveling.

Bombur was married with seven children and was heading to Erebor to see his parents. He was an extremely gifted cook and also knew a lot about ales. He was funny and sweet, and Bilbo quickly found a kindred spirit in him.

Bofur was hilarious. He was always laughing, at himself, a joke, or someone else, and he was quick to offer any assistance. He loved smoking, and told stories better than anyone else Bilbo had ever heard. He also was brilliant at making up tunes and playing them on his tin whistle.  He was quite possibly the happiest person Bilbo had ever met, even with the terrible injury his obviously well loved cousin had.

Fíli and Kíli would join him once the brothers left. Their behaviour was something Bilbo had a lot of fun observing. It would change when they were separated from each other. They were obviously most content when together, and most relaxed. Whenever Fíli was detained by Thorin or Balin, Kíli became twitchy.

He fidgeted with everything he could reach. His clothes, his bow, his arrow, the logs, the grass, even Bilbo’s yarn. He clacked his tongue, hummed, and shuffled around in his seat until Fíli headed back in his direction. Fíli grew quiet whenever Kíli was detained. He sat still and stared into the fire without moving. He would talk if spoken to, but he rarely started the conversation.

When they joined Bilbo by the fire they asked questions about hobbit culture that Bilbo answered as well as he could. He was allowed to ask about dwarf culture in return and they answered what they were allowed.

Bilbo found himself laughing a lot more. It was a bit weird since he’d essentially seen this trip as his death march. He was quite certain it wasn’t supposed to be _fun_.

He just felt like part of a group, and it was incredible. He hadn’t felt part of something in a very long time.

Gandalf was always nearby, of course. Usually with a pot of tea. A normal hobbit would have complained at being watched so close by someone who was essentially a parent. Bilbo would never complain about Gandalf though.

The wizard had found him when he was just ten. He’d been little more than an orphan at that point. He had just run away from Lobelia’s house for the dozenth time and was hiding in a blackberry bush that was a few dozen yards from the hole. Gandalf had been walking down the path on his way to see the old Took. He’d promptly stopped and spotted Bilbo’s hiding spot.

“Are you hiding then?” He’d asked in his gruff voice. Bilbo had instantly been curious about this strange tall person. He’d followed him around for the rest of the day.

Gandalf had more or less adopted him by the end of the week. Bilbo never really knew why. He couldn’t understand what the Wizard could possibly get out of their relationship.

After he downed his pot of tea Fíli and Kíli would call Thorin over and the four would talk for a while longer. Until the moon was high overhead and Bilbo was utterly exhausted. Thorin would then walk him back to his carriage and help him inside. Óin would then sneak in and give him a quick check over.

Óin was different than the healers at the Shire. He was a marvelous healer, and seemed to know more about Bilbo’s body than Bilbo did. He had little bedside manner though. He was gruff and would bark at Bilbo when he did anything too taxing. He had calloused hands that were always warm, but wouldn’t be gentle if Bilbo had spent more time up and about than Óin judged a good idea. He was extremely knowledgable on a plethora of subjects. Anything from herbs to animals, history to science. He just knew things.

He was extremely hard on hearing though.

All in all, the trip was tiring, but so much more fun than his life had ever been. The change in routine made everything so much more exciting, and they were traveling through such beautiful places that Bilbo couldn’t help but cherish every single moment of it.

Right now he was sitting on Shadowfax and talking to Thorin. It was fun and felt a little dangerous to be up so high on such a large beast. It was perfectly safe, Gandalf would protect him from the carriage, and Shadowfax would never cause him harm. The horse was quite fond of Bilbo.

“Daghel, you are quite observant.” Thorin stated as he pulled a bundle of red berries from the bush Bilbo had spotted. Bilbo preened under the praise and nickname. Which he still didn’t know the translation of.

“Food. Hobbits can spot, smell, or feel food nearby. It’s an extra sense.” He said with a wink. Thorin offered him a handful of berries and Bilbo took five. They were tangy and sweet. A perfect compliment to the delightful spring day.  He’d only been up for a while, but he could already feel a faint weariness in his body. He wouldn’t be up late tonight. Maybe he would take a nap.

“It would seem to be.” Thorin noted. He chewed on a berry of his own and looked back to see how the rest of the caravan was doing. He returned his gaze to the path ahead, apparently satisfied with whatever he had seen.

“Have you ever cloud gazed?” Bilbo asked, letting his own gaze drift skyward. He didn’t have to worry about the path ahead. Gandalf was leading the horse, and Shadowfax could find her own way if he needed to.

“Cloud gazed?” Bilbo nodded his head, still looking at the clouds. He missed the affectionate smile that Thorin shot him.

Gandalf did not.

“Basically you find a nice bit of grass and lay back so you can look at the sky.”

“Like star gazing then?” Bilbo nodded his head.

“Essentially. You can try to make shapes out of the clouds as well. It’s fun if you have someone else to do it with. The ideas of what the clouds look like usually vary by a lot.” He snorted and gave his head a tiny shake. Curls fell into his eyes and he flicked them away as he returned his gaze to Thorin. The dwarf watched his hand moving his hair. “I have never had the chance to star gaze. It’s usually too cold, wet, and late back at the Shire for me to be allowed. Do you like star gazing?”

Thorin seemed to come back to himself. He looked back at the path ahead. “When I was a dwarfling I did. I am afraid it is not something I have had the time to enjoy in recent years.”

Bilbo decided that was what they would do this evening. He’d simply take a nap before it. He’d sleep in the entire next day if he had to.

“Frerin always loved star gazing. He would drag me out at the most absurd hours of night and we would look at the stars over the mountain until dawn obscured them.” Thorin’s voice grew wistful and fond, and Bilbo wished he could have brought that tone and look to the stoic dwarf’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard mention of ‘Frerin’ but he had no idea who the dwarf was. Any time Thorin mentioned him he got a distant look in his eye. He always sounded affectionate as well.

“Perhaps I will return the favor while I am at Erebor. I should enjoy it and it would make him laugh…”

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond when he was hit by a bout of dizziness. He slipped forward on Shadowfax a bit, who instantly stopped walking forward.

“Bilbo.” Gandalf called insistently. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Shadowfax’s neck and held on while he fought off the spinning world. Thorin was stopping as well, concern furrowing his brow.

“Yes?” He managed. He tilted his head back to look at Gandalf but was nearly overcome. He pressed his face into Shadowfax’s mane instead.

“I think it is time for your studies.” Studies… That was Gandalf’s codeword for rest. He was kind enough to make it seem like Bilbo was learning everytime he was napping. The dwarves knew he was headed to Greenwood, and they assumed he was having to learn the elvish language. Bilbo was already fluent in both Sindarin and Quenya so he faked ‘learning’ it quite easily.

He didn’t want to nap. Bilbo wanted to spend more time with Thorin. He had a feeling he could have made him laugh. He’d lightened up at the idea of star gazing.

He also wanted to distract him from whoever Frerin was.

Still, the dizziness wasn’t getting any better. He would rather have a chance of star gazing that night than staying awake and having to retire early. “Yes sir.” He turned to Thorin and smiled as cheerfully as he could while trying not to spin off a horse. “I’ll see you tonight?” Thorin nodded with a now more mildly concerned than frantic, frown. “Great.”

Bilbo slipped off Shadowfax’s back when the horse knelt down and trudged to the carriage. He climbed inside and Gandalf started following Thorin again. He climbed up onto the bench and wrapped a blanket around himself.

He could hear the buzz of conversations from the other dwarves. Birds called out side to their mates, and the thump-thump of the carriage wheels echoed around the enclosed space. The wind drifted through the curtained windows and ruffled Bilbo’s hair.

Life was happening all around him. Energy was flowing and happiness was almost tasteable on the wind.

It was starting to make his chest ache again. An ache he hadn’t felt in a long time. An ache that came from hoping and knowing it was pointless to do so.

He had to lock hope away. He had to remain strong and unaffected. Gandalf couldn’t see him hoping or it would hurt so much more when it all failed again. Conceal it and don’t feel it.

He wished someone could take him far away. Away from his broken body and to a place where he could just live. Where he could stay up for a day and not feel like he had just fought an entire army in doing something so utterly simple.

He half imagined he heard Thorin’s laughter on the wind, and it made his chest ache in a delirious way that Bilbo absolutely hated. He half wandered who had made the dwarf lower his guard enough to laugh and figured it had probably been one his nephews. Dwalin and Balin could make him laugh as well.

Bilbo wished he could have seen it. He could have caused it. He wished he didn’t have to lay in bed all day and be so careful about every stupid little thing.

He wished he’d met Thorin years ago so that he could have had longer with him. He wished that he didn’t get that sparkle in his eyes each time he mentioned Frerin.

But Bilbo loved that sparkle, and if Frerin brought it to Thorin’s eyes, he could never hate him. Because Bilbo didn’t and wouldn’t be around long enough to.

He closed his eyes and let the weariness claim him as a few tears slipped down his cheeks and past his fiercely guarded heart.  

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was warm. Amazingly and delightfully warm. Bilbo wanted to wrap the dwarf around himself like a giant coat and just leech off his warmth.

The dwarf had dismissed himself after dinner, much to Bilbo’s selfish displeasure. He knew he shouldn’t care, but it was hard not to when Thorin just kept being so darn attractive.

It was weird, but every time he learned something new about the dwarf, it didn’t so much feel like he was learning something, as remembering it. It felt like he’d known Thorin forever even if it had really only been two months.

He’d willed away his slight heartache at Thorin’s departure with Fíli and Kíli. They made him laugh, and he didn’t mind the slightly breathless feeling that always left him with. He needed the joy they brought and a little pain was a small price for that.

Thorin had shown back up after the stars had come out and the sun had completely disappeared. He gave his nephews a pointed look and requested Bilbo’s company. Bilbo had followed him because Bilbo had no will power and Thorin had given him a smile. The dwarf lead him away from the camp to a little clearing a few hundred yards away. It was quiet and the evening was growing quite cool.

There was a blanket laid on the grass and two more folded beside it. “I hoped you would star gaze with me, Daghel.”

Bilbo’s mouth popped open and he sucked in a large amount of air that made a hissing noise. “You-really?” Thorin nodded his head with a soft smile that made him look younger. “I’d love to!” Thorin stepped onto the blanket and helped Bilbo down on to it.

That was why Bilbo now knew that Thorin was warm. He’d slowly inched closer to the dwarf while they peered up at the night sky. Thorin seemed to get closer as well, though that might have just been wishful thinking.

The sky was full of stars. He’d never noticed how many there were. He wondered if Varda knew the name of each one.

“The winter stars were always my favorite as a lad.” Thorin murmured quietly. He moved towards Bilbo until their arms were pressed together and pointed out a collection of seemingly random stars. “Those form the first constellation I learned to recognize, much to my father’s disappointment.”

“Why?”

“Because they make up the ladle. My father wanted me to have a more… impressive constellation choice.”

“The ladle huh?” Bilbo asked, trying to picture a ladle out of the stars. It looked more like a pot to him than a type of spoon. “Well, it’s now my first as well. Perfect for a hobbit.”

Thorin chuckled deep in his throat and nodded his head. Bilbo considered the stars and tried not to focus too much on the sound of Thorin breathing beside him. Thorin looked marvelous in the light of the night. He reminded Bilbo of heroes he would read about in fantastic stories. Some warrior of old word could never fully describe the magnificence and wonder of.

“Those look like a horse.” Bilbo said, pointing out the connecting stars. Thorin squinted at them for a moment before nodding his head. “Yes. What will you name it?”

“Myrtle.” Bilbo said decisively. Thorin raised his eyebrow and tilted his head towards Bilbo.

“Myrtle?”

“Yes. Myrtle.” Bilbo gives his head a nod and grins. “She is the fiercest pony in all Middle Earth. Do not cross her or she’ll kick you.”

“Hmm,” Thorin returned to staring at the stars. “Sounds like Minty’s kin. He would probably enjoy meeting her.”

“She’s probably his mate.” Bilbo said, and then blushed. He had just made things awkward.

“Good. Minty deserves the fiercest pony. He is a fine one himself.” Thorin’s hand brushed against Bilbo’s and the hobbit was certain that all the air he had been breathing just fine had decided to leave.

His whole ‘don’t fall for Thorin’ plan was not working too terribly well.

“Bilbo,” Thorin rushed, “make a wish.” He pointed out a flash of light that was flying across the sky. A shooting star.

Bilbo tilted his head to look at Thorin’s star-lit features. He was staring at the sky with an utter rapture that made him look carefree and happy. His thick, dark hair was fanned out on the grass and mingling with Bilbo’s own strawberry curls. He had a tunic on with the armored shirt on top of that. Bilbo could see his muscles beneath the fabric, and the warm flush of his skin at his throat. He could smell the deep scent of earth and metal that Thorin always smelled of and all of it made something sharp lodge in Bilbo’s throat.

He closed his eyes and wished.

-[]-[]-[]-

Despite how tired Bilbo was after their little star gaze, he didn’t go to sleep right away. He dug into his pack and pulled out a worn leather notebook that he kept wrapped up in an old shirt and buried at the bottom of his things. He didn’t want anyone to accidentally find it. He didn’t want to have to explain why he had a leather notebook full of wishes, hopes, and dreams. Why there were pressed flowers, locks of hair, scraps of yarn, and feathers pressed into its pages.

It was a book of things he wanted to do before he died, but he didn’t think he would ever be able to do any of them.

And he just had.

Bilbo untied the strap that kept the book shut as he sat back on his bed. He flipped through the pages carefully, looking at his list of wishes and dreams with eager eyes. A feather fell off of one of the pages and he tucked it back with odd feeling fingers. he flipped over a few more pages and let out a breath.

There.

Number forty-eight. _Spend an evening star gazing with someone special._

Bilbo put a small x at the beginning of the line with a hand that trembled. His lips were spread in a large smile that almost hurt his muscles. He hadn’t smiled so earnestly in a long time.

He had just spent the day chatting with different dwarves who weren't talking to him out of a sense of obligation. He had willed the night away laying beside a dwarf that was quite possibly the most incredible person he had ever met.

He had friends, and for the first time in a very long time, Bilbo didn't feel so alone. He always had Gandalf, but he had other people to talk to as well.

It felt nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please do not spoil what 'Daghel' means. It's going to be a surprise that will be unveiled near the end. If you know what it means and are just confused why I am using it, let me tell you, it will be awesome. :D
> 
> Thank you to all the people who continue to read, comment, and kudo this piece! I'm really flattered by how much you all seem to be enjoying it. :)
> 
> Also, Bilbo's bucket list will have items off my own. Let me know if there is anything you think should be on it ;)


	5. Chapter 5

_“The bright side of it is,” said Puddleglum, “that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we’re safe from being drowned in the river.”_

_-The Silver Chair_

* * *

 

They took Highdays (Fridays) off for resting. They were making good time, and resting was one of the stipulations that Gandalf had made before he joined the caravan. They had started their little trip on a Trewsday (Tuesdays) so the first Highday Bilbo had simply spent in his carriage. The second he had spent in the camp. This time Bilbo was going to venture out. He was covered in grime, sweat, and more oil than he cared to keep count of. Simply sponging himself off in the morning was not cutting it.

This hobbit needed to be cleaned.

“I am going to make use of the pond we spotted on the way here.” Bilbo declared. He was standing beside Thorin who was gathering up a few dandelions for Balin’s favorite tea. Bilbo had thought it extremely sweet and thoughtful. Not that he said that out loud. He didn’t really think Thorin would appreciate being called sweet.

Thorin peered up at him through his dark lashes. “You want a swim?”

For a moment the sight of Thorin with an almost _coy_ grin knocked all the breath out of Bilbo in a way that had nothing to do with his condition. His mouth went utterly dry and his mind decided it wanted to go on holiday along with whatever he had been about to say. His voice died and silence stretched out as he stared at Thorin. The dwarf met his speechless gaze with a soft one and Bilbo wondered that he was still standing. He had no idea how because he couldn’t actually feel his knees.

“A bath. I wanted a bath. Hobbits can’t swim.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose and the coy grin slipped away. He stood up, dandelions forgotten. “What?”

“I have no idea how to swim. Hobbits aren’t taught that sort of thing.” Bilbo had no idea why that made Thorin look so concerned.

“Do you trust me, Daghel?”

That seemed quite a non-sequitur to Bilbo. Nonetheless he dutifully nodded his head. “Yes.”

“Then join me at the pond. I should like to teach you the skill. It is dangerous to be in the wild and not know how to swim. I would not have you in danger when it is an easy thing to learn.” He paused and regarded Bilbo with his brilliant eyes. “When I could so easily teach you.”

That was a terrible idea. It would be taxing, and probably result in Bilbo having a fainting spell. Gandalf would never approve of it and it was _so_ _dangerous_.

“That sounds like fun. I’ll go tell Gandalf that I want to bathe…” Bilbo blushed and lowered his gaze to the crabgrass they were standing on. He had no will power.

“And I will meet you at the pond.”

It wasn’t difficult at all to convince Gandalf that he wanted a quick bath. The wizard trusted Bilbo, and the hobbit had never done anything to make him have reason to doubt him. Bilbo felt a little guilty about his lie, but he wanted to swim with Thorin too much to tell the truth.

The tiny pond was perfect for Bilbo. It was shaded by tall willows that dipped the tips of their longest branches into the water like a woman wishing to wash her hair. They offered the sweat and dust covered hobbit a break from the warm sun and Bilbo decided he wanted to plant willows around his own lake in the Shire. If he ever returned there he would plant them so that future hobbits could have the pleasure of such beauty. He’d tell Gandalf to do it if all else failed.

He managed to strip his shirt and breeches off before he paused.

There would be a dwarf with him. A dwarf that was built like Aüle himself and healthy and utterly breathtaking. He would see what Bilbo looked like. Which was not terribly impressive.

Well. There really wasn’t anything for it. Bilbo had already stripped his clothes off. He’d look a right fool if he put them back on. He hadn’t brought anything else with him either, he couldn’t wear wet things back to Gandalf or the wizard would just save his heart the trouble and kill him on the spot.

He squared his shoulders and walked to the pond bank. He dipped his toes in the cool water and felt his entire body relax. The water was delicious feeling. He dropped down to his bottom and edged his legs into the water before slipping the rest of his body in. He held onto the shore to see how deep it was. The water rose up to mid chest and it was wonderfully soothing. Silt crunched delightfully between his toes and Bilbo had to close his eyes in momentary bliss.

When he opened them again he saw Thorin standing on the grass. He had his shirt off and was wearing light cotton shorts. His hair was braid free and hanging over his shoulders in a dark, alluring cascade.

The dwarf was staring at him and Bilbo felt tingly. Thorin looked at him for a long moment and then the corner of his mouth quirked up and he made his way across the grass with slow, measured steps.

“Are you ready for a lesson, Daghel?” Bilbo nodded his head breathlessly and Thorin’s quirked mouth spread into a full grin. He leap into the water which resulted in Bilbo get drenched. He spluttered at the unexpected water, and then the unexpected view when Thorin reemerged. The dwarf tossed his hair back and came up gleaming wet. His skin was beautifully tanned and his blue eyes seemed far more luminous.

Bilbo felt horribly shy as the dwarf walked towards him. Thorin stopped two feet from him, and stretched his hands out for Bilbo’s. The hobbit took them and allowed himself to be pulled forward until the water was up to the tip of his shoulders. He was nearly pressed against Thorin. He craned his head back and looked up at the blue eyes. Thorin was still holding his hands, and it was amazing how much larger his hands were then Bilbo’s. They were exceedingly gentle though. They enveloped Bilbo’s hand without making him feel crushable. He felt more like the dwarf was caressing him.

“We’ll practice floating today.” Thorin instructed. Bilbo nodded his assent, not quite able to speak. Thorin tugged him forward gently and then placed one hand on his back and the other behind his knees. He lifted Bilbo up and then the hobbit was sort of laying on the water.

It was a very weird feeling. He could feel Thorin’s hands on his skin, warm against the cool water, and that was all that was keeping him from being submerged.

He felt weightless.

“Good,” Thorin praised, his deep voice as liquidy and soothing as the water Bilbo was laying on. “Just like that. The water does all the work.”

Bilbo kept his eyes locked on the sky, but he could watch Thorin out of his peripherals. The dwarf looked at nothing else but Bilbo as he helped him float around the pond.

No one had ever really looked at him like Thorin did. He had a way of focusing on Bilbo that made him utterly aware that he was under the dwarf’s gaze. It was an intent stare that made it clear he was paying attention. It was also soft though, a gentle affection that made Bilbo breathless and fluttery.

He was certain he imagined half of what he thought he saw. Thorin was far too grand to look at him like that. There was also still Frerin who Bilbo _knew_ had Thorin’s affection.

Thorin gradually lowered his hands over the course of the afternoon, but he was never far from Bilbo’s side. It made Bilbo feel almost free, and beautifully protected.

He didn’t want it to ever end.

-[]-[]-[]-

“It really depends on your knife.” Bofur insisted. Bifur huffed and made a gesture that looked rude. Bilbo didn’t know what it meant, but it had Bofur laughing. “Yes, size can make a difference, but not that much of one.”

“So size matters?” Bilbo asked, and then laughed at the look of delight on Bofur’s face. He never would have been allowed to make an inappropriate joke with the other hobbits he knew.

The camp had almost been completely set up and the dwarves were all going about the tasks that Thorin had given them. Bilbo was aiding Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur with setting up dinner. They were having soup again tonight, thanks to a stream they’d found earlier in the day. Gandalf was fetching more herbs for Bilbo’s tea so Bilbo was taking the chance to stand and talk. He’d been tired all day and Gandalf had just seemed to know. He would have made Bilbo sit by the fire and crochet.

He didn’t really know why he was so tired either. He’d been sleeping well. Better than he had in a long while. His dreams weren’t quite so dark and suffocating either.

“Has anyone seen my nephews?” Thorin’s hand lighted on Bilbo’s shoulder and he had to force himself not to tense up at the unexpected contact. Thorin couldn’t just sneak up on him like that! He hadn’t been ready.

The silly grin that Thorin always seemed to inspire in him lifted his lips. “They went to fetch more firewood.” His voice remained steady and Bilbo felt victorious.

“They are needed for the watch.” Thorin sighed and looked at the woods, his hand was still on Bilbo’s shoulder and it felt huge and heavy, but also light and warm and Bilbo decided that Thorin’s hands were one of his nicest parts. “Do you know where they went in?” Bilbo nodded his head and Thorin’s hand slipped off his shoulder.

“I can show you?” He looked to Bofur who promptly hid a smile behind his fist. Bilbo blushed and looked to Bombur instead. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He turned and led Thorin to the edge of the clearing where the trees were.

“They went in there right after we stopped. Twenty or so minutes ago?”

Thorin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had a green bead clutched in his other hand. It was the same color as the jade handles on the tools Bilbo had bought from him at their first meeting. “I did not tell them to do so. I cannot leave the post until they return.” That seemed to irritate Thorin and he didn’t want Thorin irritated.

“I’ll get them.” He offered. He hadn’t done anything to really help the caravan so far. He didn’t want Thorin to think he was just a laze. This was the perfect task. It wouldn’t be too taxing, and apparently it was important that Fíli and Kíli return.

A brief walk might help return some energy too. He was almost swaying with exhaustion.  “Tell Gandalf where I am if he returns before me?” Thorin nodded his head and stuffed his hand in his pocket. Bilbo wondered what the bead had been for. He gave Thorin one last smile before turning and trodding into the woods alone.

They were quiet, eerily so. No birds sang, no squirrels chattered, not leaves rustled. Bilbo imagined that if he stopped and focused he’d be able to hear the trees growing around him. He didn’t spot Fíli or Kíli anywhere near so he went deeper into the woods.

It was growing colder. He should have grabbed a coat. His limbs felt weary and Bilbo realized it wasn’t really cold, he was just tired. He couldn’t even seem to find the energy to move any further ahead.

“Bilbo?” There was a rustle overhead and then Fíli was dropping down in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“Your uncle.” He murmured. He tried to concentrate on the blond dwarf but he was sliding in and out of focus. It took too much effort to make him clear.

“Thorin? Bilbo, are you alright?” A heavy hand landed on his upper arm and Bilbo realized there wasn’t any air in his lungs. “You’re really pale. Bilbo?” Bilbo started to tilt and tried to get air into his lungs but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “Bilbo!”

His vision blacked out before he started to feel himself fall. His knee collided into the ground, hard, and he felt a rush of air as he dropped to meet the ground.

He knew no more.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo was lying on something warm and soft that smelled like pipeweed and ink. His lips curved up in a slight smile.

Gandalf.

His body felt light. Like the froth at the top of a golden glass of ale. He could feel a rough finger stroking the skin by his neck in a repetitive way that meant the owner of the digit wasn’t fully aware they were doing it.

He could almost feel the colors surrounding him.

Bilbo might have been a bit out of it. He was certainly drugged with something. Whatever it was, he was going to request more of it. He didn’t want to feel again. He wasn’t really sure why, but it seemed like it was going to be bad when he could.

“The lad is waking up.” The voice had a slight burr to it that Bilbo couldn’t place. It was familiar though. His foggy mind was slowly coming into focus.

“Bilbo, Aew nín?” That was Gandalf. He’d know that deep, hoarse tone anywhere.

“Mmm-hmm?” He blinked his eyes open and took in the hazy light of the carriage. He could feel the warmth of sunlight drifting in through the curtain. The carriage was rocking back and forth from the road.

“Lad, can I get you to follow my finger?” The thick digit appeared over his nose and Bilbo nodded his head. Óin moved the finger to the left and right a few times and Bilbo followed it with his eyes. He felt better knowing who the dwarf was. “Very good. Now, how do you feel?”

“Butterflies.” Bilbo replied. Óin raised his grey eyebrow and looked to Gandalf. Bilbo couldn’t see the wizard and realized that he was laying in his lap. “I feel light and fluttery. Fluffy?”

Óin nodded his head, understanding. “Ah, that’ll be the herbs.” He grasped Bilbo’s wrist and felt his pulse. “How is your breath?”

“Good? I can breathe.”

Óin smiled and placed his broad hand against Bilbo’s forehead. His skin was dry, warm, and calloused.

Bilbo was starting to remember again. He had been in the forest. Fíli had been there. Had he seen?

Oh Eru. The others-did they know about him? They’d treat him differently now. He would no longer be part of the group. He’d be the weird, sick hobbit that everyone just ignored.

“Aew nín, calm yourself.” Gandalf ordered. Bilbo was adjusted on the warm lap and Gandalf’s hand came around to clasp his own. “I have not told anyone anything yet, if that is your worry.”

“Though you might want to. I’m fairly certain that Fíli thinks you are going to turn him into some horrible creature.”

“He will be lucky if I do not.” Gandalf’s tone was low and threatening. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Gandalf, he didn’t do anything. It was my fault. I wanted to help out and Thorin said he needed Fíli and Kíli back before he could do something. I should have just sat down. I was feeling tired and dizzy all day.”

“Thorin told you to-”

“He really didn’t. It was my stubborness.”

“I think we’ll be okay.” The dwarf sat back and gathered up various herbs that were laying around. “He’ll need to rest for the remainder of the day. I would suggest you sleep later as well.” He fastened his bag and stood up a little wobbily. He hit the wall of the carriage three times and it drew to a stop. “I’ll see you again this evening. Sleep well, laddie.” And then he was off and out.

Gandalf lowered Bilbo onto the actual bench and sat beside him. The carriage started back up. It rocked and the wind whipped the curtain over the window back and forth. colored light filtered through its fabric and made the walls dance with color.

It seemed too cheerful. The air felt heavy with reality that Bilbo hadn’t wanted to face.

“You have to tell them, Aew nín.”

There was no conversation drifting in from the outside right now. It was quiet except for the occasional bird call or neighing horse. The colors danced on the wall and the carriage rocked.

“I know.” Bilbo said quietly. He took Gandalf’s hand and closed his eyes. “Tonight.”

He’d find his courage before then.


	6. Chapter 6

_Harry gave his naturally tidy bedroom one last sweeping look and then made his ungainly way back downstairs to the hall... It felt most strange to stand here in the silence and know that he was about to leave the house for the last time. Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat: pausing only to sneak something tasty from the fridge he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley's computer, or put on the television and flicked through the channels to his heart's content. It gave him an odd, empty feeling to remember those times; it was like remembering a younger brother whom he had lost_   
_-Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows_

* * *

 

He didn’t find his courage.

They didn’t stop traveling until late in the day. Bilbo slept for hours and only woke up when they drew to a stop. Gandalf helped him out of the carriage slowly, and he was very aware that every dwarf was staring at him.

He sat by the already built fire and tried to breathe slowly. Ori took his customary seat beside him and Bilbo smiled. Gandalf went to Bombur and started to boil the water for his nightly tea.

“It’s a lovely evening.” Bilbo said, and then winced. The weather. He was talking about the weather.

“I was afraid we’d have rain.” Ori said with a smile. He pulled his knitting out and focused on the scarf he was making. It was nearly finished, and had delicate runes stitched along the edges. Bilbo wondered what they said. “Dori always says that waking up to three different bird cries means rain.”

“Really?” Bilbo kept breathing steadily and hoped he didn’t sound too giddy. “I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s just one of those things Dori says.” Ori dismissed. The other dwarves returned to their duties and Bilbo felt his shoulders relax.

He managed to put it off for a while longer. He drank his tea and ate his dinner. Bofur gave him a four-leaf clover with his ragoue and tussled his hair.

Everyone else seemed mildly scared to go near him. Bilbo wasn’t sure if it was because they thought he would pass out again, or if Gandalf had done something while he was unconscious.

Thorin was standing over by the ponies. He never moved his gaze from Bilbo and it was making the hobbit fidgety. He’d never felt such an intense, burning gaze as Thorin’s.

Bilbo couldn’t put it off any longer in good conscience. He needed to tell them all the truth. He would start with Thorin. He had known him longest and he owed it to the dwarf to be honest.

He just prayed it would hurt too much when they stopped talking to him.

Bilbo stood up stiffly and waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to be hit with a wave of dizziness before starting towards Thorin. He took three steps before the dwarf held up his hand to stop Bilbo. He came over to the fire instead.

He laid a hand on Bilbo’s arm and guided him back to the log. Bilbo sat down heavily, all the conviction he’d just had dissipating at the worry in Thorin’s eyes.

He couldn’t do this.

“Are you well, Daghel?” Bilbo shook his head and the hand on his arm tightened before letting go. Thorin sat by his side, turned to face him. His knee pressed into Bilbo’s leg and the tiny spot of contact made Bilbo’s throat clog up and his eyes water.

He wanted so much. So many things that he couldn’t have. He’d let himself imagine that he could and now it was all crashing down around him. They would learn the truth and they would distance themselves like everyone but Gandalf did.

Hope. Bilbo should have never let himself feel it.

Bilbo kept his eyes on the fire and focused on forming the words he had to say. If he thought about what he was doing he would lose his courage, and he needed what very little he had. Everyone else had drawn to the other side of the camp site. Gandalf was watching warily from the cook fire with the tea kettle clutched in his gnarled hands.

He rolled the green clover between his fingers. He needed luck. It was something he’d been painfully short on all of his life.

He needed courage too.

“Thorin,” Bilbo finally managed. It was remarkably hard to force the word out of his throat. “I have a weak heart. It has trouble pumping enough blood through my body. That’s why I’m always so low on energy. And…” He swallowed, forcibly keeping his eyes on the flickering flames. Thorin wasn’t moving by his side. Still, it was getting easier to talk.

“And it’s failing. That’s why Gandalf and I are going to Greenwood. There are healers there who have gifts for mending hearts, but there isn’t much of a chance it will work. I haven’t been very responsive to any other methods. I’m  not on this trip to learn about elves or to enter an apprenticeship on weaving.” Bilbo shook his head. It all sounded so silly now. He shouldn’t have chased the small chance at normalcy.

“If I do a lot I get dizzy and can’t breathe. I’ll pass out and... Well… I don’t have very long left. My healer estimated another five months at most.” Bilbo dropped his eyes to his hands. He’d ripped the four-leaf clover Bofur had given him. It seemed horribly symbolic.

At his side Thorin stood up. Bilbo kept his eyes on the broken clover and tried to keep breathing. He felt dizzy, but he didn’t think it was because his heart couldn’t pump enough blood.

Thorin turned on his heel and, without a single word, went into the woods leaving Bilbo alone with his broken and dying heart.

-[]-[]-[]-

There were varying reactions to Bilbo’s news. A few of the dwarves watched him with worried eyes. Others went out of their way to make sure he was not wanting for anything. Some worked extra hard to make him laugh.

And one became distantly polite.

For three days Thorin didn’t talk to him at all outside of a polite greeting. The dwarf rarely looked at him, and no longer stood near him or sat beside him. On the fourth day he spoke more than a 'hello' only to tell Bilbo to tend to the horses.

Bilbo simply nodded his head and took Shadowfax to the stream for a drink. He wanted the solitude.

Bofur and Ori had taken to spending more time with him in an effort to cheer him up with Thorin’s aloofness. Fíli and Kíli did the same whenever their uncle didn’t give them some duty. Bifur also stuck nearer than he had previously. He would sit beside Bilbo, without ever saying a word, and whittle away at his toys. The silent companionship was nice. He appreciated the friendship and what they were trying to do, but he sometimes just wanted solitude.

Thorin’s distance broke what little of Bilbo’s heart was working. He missed the dwarf’s presence. He missed his companionship. He’d really liked Thorin. Bilbo was fairly certain that he’d fallen in love with the dwarf.

He expected to be angry at Thorin’s distance. He expected to hate him for not caring enough to love Bilbo in return. Every book he had read showed that unreturned love led to hate.

Bilbo couldn’t be angry at Thorin, and he certainly couldn’t hate him. He couldn’t blame Thorin for being angry. He should have told him the truth a lot earlier. The dwarf probably didn’t want to be friends with someone who wasn’t going to be around for long. It was a waste of time.

Bilbo grabbed Shadowfax’s reins and led the horse back from the stream to the campsite. The horse nudged him every few steps and whinnied pointedly.

“Sorry, old friend.” Bilbo murmured, not feeling up to talking any louder. “But I’m afraid I’m in no mood for merriments.”

Shadowfax whined and nudged him again. They were nearly back at the camp. The sun was starting to set and Bilbo could feel the cold of the night approaching. He shivered and wrapped his free arm around his chest.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice barked. Bilbo jerked and looked up wildly. The dwarf was approaching him with a scowl. He had a rein in his hand that he was clutching tightly.

“Thorin?”

“Why were you not tending to the horse?” Bilbo looked over to Shadowfax and then back to Thorin.

“I was?”

“You were not supposed to leave them! You were supposed to make sure they were secured. A simple task.”

Bilbo tied Shadowfax to the post with the rest of the horses and ponies. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He probably should have been silent, but Thorin was actually talking to him. Even if it was in anger, Bilbo didn’t care. He just wanted to stand near him while he could.

“Obviously! You should not leave this camp!”

Bilbo’s mouth popped open in shock. “You should not have come.” Thorin said in a fierce tone. He tossed the rein he’d been clutching to the ground with a hard movement that resulted in a loud noise. Bilbo took a step back. His heart raced off-rhythm in his chest and his vision was swimming. “Gandalf was wrong in this. You have no place on so dangerous a journey!”

“I-” Bilbo stammered, he couldn’t make his throat work around the pain growing in it. He was going to cry. “I have no choice-” He cut himself off before he could finish and turned. He ran as well as he could into the woods, stumbling more than anything else.

He couldn’t find any more air in the woods than he had in the camp, but at least here he felt like he could release what he was feeling.

Bilbo dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around his chest as tightly as he could. His heart beat in his chest, doing its best to keep him alive and his breath came in painful wheezes. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and Bilbo hadn’t realized he’d let them go.

He refused to let the sob that was bubbling up his throat loose. Bilbo hadn’t sobbed for anything, and he wasn’t going to sob for _anyone._

With his heart hammering Bilbo closed his eyes and thought of better things. Birds and Butterflies. Free flying things that didn’t know darkness or sorrow. A cool breeze over a field of flowers. Springtime and strawberries. Anything that was calm. He had to keep his heart rate down and couldn’t lose his breath.

Bilbo pitched forward and took in deep breaths of air. He clenched handfuls of grass and focused on each inhale and exhale. He forced himself to remain still and relax. He couldn’t risk his heart getting overly taxed.

His heart kept pumping steadily. It seemed to understand that Bilbo really needed it to work this one time.

-[]-[]-[]-

He ended up walking around after he broke down. He had lavender and lemon balm in his pocket and he chewed on them while he walked aimlessly. Gandalf always made sure he had at least two calming herbs on him at all times in case he got upset about something.

Upset seemed far too mild a word to Bilbo. Still, he could feel their wonderful calming effects. He’d have to ask Gandalf for a few more. Gandalf would be a while before he returned to the camp. At which time he would probably turn Thorin into a toad and then carry Bilbo back to the carriage.

Bilbo didn’t particularly care to be carried back. He wanted to disappear into the woods and just float away on the wind like the leaves did. It was hardly fair that he had to stay stuck to the ground when everything else seemed able to fly, swim, or run away.

Bilbo went deeper into the forest and tried not to think about the way Thorin had looked at him. He’d never been such a nuisance to someone before.

And he had thought it might be possible for the dwarf to like him. Hardy-har-har.

He went back towards the camp as it got darker. He reached the edge of the woods when he heard a familiar voice. Gandalf was calling for the source of Bilbo’s heartache. He ducked behind one of the trees and peered around it to see Thorin patrolling the edges of the camp. Gandalf was following him with an expression that would have made Bilbo flee.

“Thorin Oakenshield, what have you done with Bilbo?”

The dwarf turned and regarded Gandalf with a heavy stare. “I have done nothing with you hobbit. I simply berated him for wandering off by himself. If he is so ill it is not advisable for him to do such things. He’s likely to faint where no one would find him.”

“And yet Bofur says _you_ caused him to run into the woods.” Thorin squared his shoulders and stepped nearer to Gandalf..

“Bofur should mind his own business." Thorin replied with a growl. "It is not my fault that the halfling was so sensitive. I will not-I _cannot_ be responsible for his fate. I do not have the ability to promise his safety. Especially if he will not follow simple orders.”

Gandalf passed his staff to his other hand and gave Thorin a look that Bilbo had never seen before. It made him shiver with fright, and he had never been frightened of Gandalf. “Sensitive? You fool. Bilbo _loves you_. He has given his heart to you and you ignore him? I did not think you so cruel.”

“Then he is a fool.”

Bilbo didn’t have time to be embarrassed, hurt, or horrified. Gandalf didn’t waste a second on drawing nearer to Thorin or responding.

“If you hurt him again I will see to it that the end of your days come faster than you could have ever imagined.” The words were dark with promise.

Thorin glared up at Gandalf with a fierceness that Bilbo had never seen directed at the wizard. “If you care so much for him then why did you not bring the elf king to him? Do you wish him to die?”

Gandalf’s eyes flashed with deadly fire. “Do not think you can question me, Thorin Thrainson. The only reason I have not yet smote you for the pain you have caused Bilbo is because you are heir to the throne.” He leaned in towards Thorin. The tree limbs above his head cracked ominously.

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open in shock and he took a tiny step back. Leaves fell around Gandalf and Thorin as the trees trembled.

Thorin was heir to a throne? He was _royalty_?

“Then keep the hobbit away from me. I cannot ensure his safety, and you will leave Erebor without its future King if I am harmed.” Thorin said in a tone that was painful in its indifference. Bilbo stepped back and turned. He walked into the shadows and went towards his carriage.

He’d heard enough. He needed to think.

The carriage was dark and cool. Bilbo went straight to his bench and grabbed a blanket up. He wrapped it around his shoulder and sat down.

He sat down on something and moved to see what it was. A leather bound notebook.

Bilbo sank back onto the bench and clutched the book to his chest. He choked and clenched his eyes shut before blinking them open and trying to hold tears back.

Everything had gone so wrong. He’d messed _everything_ up. He had just wanted to have a few friends and he had lied to keep them and it had cost him the respect of the one dwarf he wanted to respect him.

It hurt so much. It felt like there was an actual physical wound in his chest. Each breath was hard to take, and his heart felt like it was trying to squeeze itself to death. His throat and eyes were burning and Bilbo didn’t think the pain would ever fade.

Gandalf was right. He did love Thorin, and the dwarf apparently despised him. Thorin had called him a fool for loving him.

Thorin was… he was everything that Bilbo couldn’t have. He was funny, tall, strong, popular, handsome, and likely to live for a very long time. Dwarves lived for an average of two hundred and fifty years.

Bilbo would be lucky to live for another four months.

He’d have to forget. He would move on. There wasn’t anything else to do. He would move on and not focus on the hurt. He would lock it away with the rest of his heart ache and fear where it wouldn’t hinder him. Bilbo had never really thought that he could get someone as amazing as Thorin to love him… to love Bilbo in the way that Bilbo loved him.

Thorin was going to be King someday. He was important, and was probably already engaged to Frerin. He had a life full of duty and excitement. He had far too much to worry about for Bilbo. He had a life to live.

Bilbo didn’t.

He would leave Thorin alone. He would give him the distance the dwarf so obviously craved and not bother him. He would stay in his carriage during the day and spend his evenings with Ori, Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli. He would go to Greenwood and spend his last days with the elves.

Bilbo shut his book of dreams and let it fall from his hands onto the floor. He lifted his feet up onto the bench and curled up in as tight a ball as he could. He closed his eyes and imagined that he could still hear birds flittering through the air. He imagined that he was young again, without the dark circles and pale skin. That he was able to run with birds and dance to the sound of the wind.

He imagined seeing Thorin smile at him and laying in his warm arms under a star filled sky while the dwarf pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Another swimming lesson that ended with a cuddle and intimate caresses that could never actually be.

He didn’t notice the first tear slip down his face. He didn’t notice them until a muffled sob broke from his lips. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees.

Bilbo was crying for all that he couldn’t have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... don't hate me? Seriously though, stick with me for another chapter. I promise Thorin isn't just being a senseless butt.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Boring conversation anyway. LUKE! We’re gonna have company!”_   
_-Star Wars: A New Hope_

* * *

 

The Misty Mountains were long, wide, tall, and cold. There was exactly one path they could take with their wagons and carriage, and it made for slow going.

He spent most of his time on the front bench of the carriage ‘guiding’ Shadowfax forward. They were positioned at the rear of the group because the path was cleared the most by the time the last dwarf went through. Gandalf was leading the entire party forward on another horse. He had lit his staff so everyone could see the way through the seeming to never end snow, and he would melt any large patches of snow that blocked their way forward.

It was cold and exhausting. There was little time for merrymaking, or conversation. Shadowfax needed very little (if any) help so Bilbo found himself drifting off in thought most of the time.

They were at the halfway point of their journey. He’d already traveled more than he ever thought he would. He’d seen beautiful places, and met new people. It was like the adventures he’d only ever read about. If he closed his eyes and pretended they were headed to complete some noble quest-something like overthrowing an evil Lord or slaying a ferocious dragon- and it was fun.

He, Bilbo Baggins, mild mannered hobbit of the Shire, was actually seeing, and crossing over, a mountain. It made him kind of giddy, despite the rough passing and the complete lack of anything resembling warmth.

Bilbo had now managed to mark off half a dozen things on his dream list.

_Spend the night camping_

Fíli, and Kíli had set up a small tent and they had invited Bilbo to stay with them for one night. He nearly stayed up the full night laughing with the two dwarves.

_Go into deep water_

That one made tears come into his eyes. Still. It had been one of the most incredible experiences in his life. He had floated on the water-water that was well deeper than he was tall- and he hadn’t been afraid.

_Build a snowman_

He couldn’t stop the grin on his lips. Gandalf had told Ori that he had always wanted to build one and all three of the Ri brothers had helped him build an entire snow family. It had been cold and made him breathless but he’d felt alive. Ori had even given him a sketch of the finished snow family.

_Learn an instrument_

Dwalin had stepped up with that one. Bilbo wasn’t certain how he managed to befriend the brutish dwarf, but he was learning to play the dwarf violin none the less.

_See a mountain_

Kind of obvious. He had mildly considered changing it to ‘climb a mountain.’ He’d be able to check it off either way.

_Shoot an arrow._

Kíli had nearly gotten pushed off the mountain for that one. Gandalf had not been pleased to see Bilbo armed.

The book was the only entertainment he had currently. Shadowfax was not willing to listen to anything he had to say, and the other dwarves were busy trying not to get soaked.

“What’s that?” Bofur’s brogue broke through Bilbo’s thoughts and made him startle. He nearly dropped his book.

“Huh?” He clutched his book to his chest and shuffled further back on his seat. Bofur smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, lad, didn’t mean to scare you.” He gave his head a little shake and water poured off the brims of his hat. The rain had actually made his hair droop a little. “The book, what is it? I see you hold it a lot.”

“It’s a notebook… I just scribble things in it.”

“Sounds like Ori.”

Bilbo glanced at the dwarf that was riding nearer the front of the caravan, by Dwalin’s side. He was talking excitedly about something, evident in the way that he was waving his hands in gestures. It made something warm up in his chest. That was one of his friends.

He had friends.

“It’s not a real story. It’s more of… wishes? Things I’d like to do in my life.”

“Really?” Bofur’s eyes lit up. “Why didn’t you tell us? We would have made them come true.”

Bilbo blushed and fiddled with the rein he had in his right hand. Shadowfax flicked his head in irritation and Bilbo stopped. “Well, it seems a little silly.”

“Nonsense! Let us have a look after dinner and we’ll make sure they’re all marked off by the time we get you to those elves.”

That was silly. Bilbo couldn’t let them see what all he’d written. He’d lose the respect they had for him. It was just things he wrote down when he was heartsick and longing for the one thing he couldn’t have. Life.

_To live._

That was the last item on the list. They couldn’t mark it off. Nothing would make it happen.

Bofur was looking at him with a slightly hopeful, slightly scared expression. Bilbo’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest and he realized he was seeing it wrong. Bofur wanted to help. He was scared Bilbo wouldn’t let him. For whatever reason, and Bilbo really couldn’t figure out _why_ , Bofur liked him. A lot of the dwarves did, and they wanted to help him in anyway they could.

Bofur _wanted_ to mark things off his list.

“Yes. That would be fun.” Bilbo relaxed his hold on the book and looked back at the caravan in front of them to find Shadowfax stopping. The other ponies and horses had stopped as well.

Gandalf was riding towards him with narrowed eyes. Thorin was directly behind him, holding his blade in one hand and an axe in the other. The wizard slipped off his brown horse with ease and pulled Bilbo off of the carriage. Once Bilbo was firmly on the ground he opened the carriage, ignoring Bilbo’s questions, and went inside it. Bilbo wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shiver. He heard one of the dwarf’s at the front of the caravan, Balin, or Dwalin, he wasn’t sure, yelling something. It wasn’t clear enough to decipher, but the tone was evident. It was sharp and warning.

Gandalf reemerged and went straight to Bilbo. Bofur rode off to tend to Bifur who was yelling in khuzdul. It sounded vicious. Gandalf had a cloth wrapped bundle in his hand that he unwound as he walked. It was a sword.

“Fíli and Kíli have spotted a goblin pack headed towards us. We are going to be attacked.” He said very plainly. He thrust the sword at Bilbo and unsheathed his own blade. “You have never done this before as I did not want you to have to worry about what it is to kill someone.” He pushed Bilbo towards Shadowfax who he unhitched from the carriage with a wave of his wand. Thorin followed behind them.

“I will still try and keep you from such things but I cannot promise to keep you safe. It cannot be helped and I need you to stay alive.” Bilbo gripped the leather bound sword hilt with a trembling hand and blinked at the leaf shaped blade. It was heavier and longer than he would have thought it would be.

“Right now.” Gandalf said once Shadowfax was free. The horse took a stance beside Bilbo and lowered his head. He looked intent. Gandalf took Bilbo’s hands in his own and adjusted his grip on the sword. “Hold onto it with both hands, pointy end goes into the goblin.” He demonstrated with a quick jab.

“You can use the hilt if you have to. Do not aim for the center of the chest,” he pointed at his sternum, “as it’s hard to cut through. Do not get too close or they’ll be trying to bite you. Best aim for the limbs and head.”

Bilbo was feeling a little dizzy and couldn’t understand why. His heart wasn’t hammering in the fluttery way it did when he was about to pass out. He was lightheaded and opened his mouth to gasp.

He hadn’t been breathing. He sucked in a breath and released it with a bit of a squeak. “What?”

Gandalf peered down at him with a frown. “Breathe, Bilbo. It will not do for you to pass out.” He laid his gnarled hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezed. “Stay with Shadowfax. He will protect you as well as he can. I must leave now. I will be of more use near the front.” Gandalf turned and strode away, sword and staff clutched purposefully.

“Bilbo.”

Thorin. Bilbo had quite forgotten he was there. He turned to face the dwarf now, very aware that he was still hyperventilating. Their journey wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Thorin was soaking wet and Bilbo was momentarily reminded of the way he had looked in the lake the first time he saw the handsome dwarf. He shone with quiet strength and his face was set in a determined line.

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped, trying not to tremble.

“Stay here. Shadowfax is a Meara. He will protect you well.” The dwarf sighed and gave his head a hard shake. “You should not have come.” He pitched forward suddenly and then Thorin’s face was terrifyingly, and wonderfully close, and lips were pressed against his own. His nose bumped against Thorin’s and he didn’t have time to fully realize that he was being kissed before Thorin was pulling away.

“Mahal… hishomakh (Aüle protect him).” Thorin said before running to join the other dwarves. Bilbo stood perfectly still.

His mind was racing, and he felt ill. Thorin… Thorin had just _kissed_ him. The dwarf had told him to stay safe and kissed him.

He’d just had his first kiss, by a dwarf he was wildly in love with, on a battlefield.

Thorin said he didn’t want Bilbo along...

Yells rang through the air. Dwarvish cries in khuzdul that he couldn’t interpret. Bilbo’s skin crawled and his heart started to flutter.

He needed to sit down.

The tea he sipped earlier had worn off and the herbs that were in his pocket felt woefully inaccurate. He would need something a lot stronger to sedate his heart. He was already starting to feel a bit breathless. His mind didn’t know what to do. There was far too much happening.

A scream pierced the air and Bilbo’s blood crawled. He had heard a lot of different animals on this trip, and he could say with absolute certainty that that was not an animal, dwarf, hobbit, elf, or human.

That was evil.

Shadowfax reared back and let out a whine that was equally loud and menacing. The dwarves had all climbed off their own ponies and were charging forward. Thorin was barking out orders, and Bilbo heard a nasty clashing noise. Metal against metal and screams.

He sucked in a breath and adjusted the heavy sword. He was already shaking. He couldn’t do this!

A dwarvish shout of pain echoed through the air and Bilbo lost all sense. He knew he lost all sense because he was moving, and not towards the carriage. He was ducking under and jogging around ponies and heading towards the fighting goblins and dwarves. The spooked animals reared dangerously and tried to bolt, but the wagons and carriage blocked their way. Shadowfax reared back again and made a noise that had _Bilbo_ wanting to kneel down. The ponies calmed and stepped back, letting Bilbo through.

That had not been expected.

The ponies had been blocking the battle from view, but now Bilbo could clearly see what was happening. There were about twenty goblins, and every dwarf was fighting at least one. Gandalf, Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Bifur had two apiece. One was already slain on the ground, and it was impossible to see everything that was going on. Kili, Bofur, and Thorin were nearest to him, and they were locked in combat with goblins that were as tall as, or taller, than them.

Bilbo had never seen such disgusting creatures. It was impossible to imagine something so vile. They were oddly proportioned with bulbous sores growing all over their mutilated bodies. Their skin was papery and thin, and Bilbo could see their organs shifting under its surface. They had tumors spread all over their body, odd growths protruding from their back and shoulders, and their hair, if they had any, was stringy and limp.

Their eyes were beedy and bloodshot. They were narrowed in concentration and their mouths were gaping open. Screaming, biting, hissing, they were noisy and their dagger like teeth were snapping at the air in constant motion. They had an array of jagged weapons that looked like bits of broken armor. They were rusted and oddly shape and deadly.

And one was coming at him.

Bilbo released a grunt of shock and brought the sword up in a horribly clumsy way. He barely managed to block the strike. It caused his blade to drop down, which blocked another hit. The goblin shrieked, a terrible sound that made Bilbo want to vomit, and he swung his sword in a wild, ill aimed attempt to be rid of it.

He nicked the goblin’s arm. He had no idea how and could not repeat the move to save his life. The goblin bellowed in rage and redoubled its attack with a snarl of words Bilbo didn’t understand.

“Bilbo!” The cry was familiar, but Bilbo didn’t have the time or presence of mind to decipher who was calling to him. He brought his sword up and tripped over something. He fell straight on his bum and his sword came up, over his head. He caused the goblin to stumble as well. A breath of air blew over his neck and the next thing he knew, Shadowfax was stomping on the fallen foe.

“Thank you,” Bilbo breathed before pushing himself up. He looked around wildly and saw Thorin trying to make his way over to him. He was trying to push a goblin out of his way, and was unaware of the one at his back. Bilbo struggled up as quick as he could, clumsy in his sudden panic. He tried to call out, to warn Thorin but he couldn’t get any air. He was dizzy and his limbs felt heavier than iron.

The goblin struck and Thorin stumbled forward without a sound. He fell to his knees and the goblin pushed him over.

Bilbo half stumbled, half crawled forward before he finally righted himself. A harsh, broken sound was making its way out of his throat. Thorin struggled to roll over, his sword just out of his reach.

Bilbo, with energy he had been unaware of having, leapt forward. He brought his sword up and blocked the goblin from Thorin with his own body.

Oh.

He hadn’t thought this through. The goblin was a good foot taller than he was, and twice as broad.  He reeked and had a glare of such fury that Bilbo’s skin crawled with dread.

“ _Bilbo_ …” The word was hardly a whisper, and Bilbo felt his back stiffen at the sound of it. Thorin was behind him. The dwarf needed help. Bilbo was all that he had. He would not fail. He would protect him with his life. Bilbo didn’t have much of one left, and there was nothing he would not do to make sure Thorin’s continued.

Even if the dwarf had broken his heart and was more confusing than dwarves only wanting to eat three meals a day, he still loved the prince and would until his heart stopped beating. Which, with the way it was fluttering in his chest, wouldn’t be that long.

He parried the jab the goblin sent at him and brought his blade around in an arc. His arms were heavy and he was quickly losing breath. He needed to sit down or he was going to be in danger of passing out. He couldn’t keep passing out.

The dwarf blocked his blow and Bilbo decided a change was in order. He remembered snatches of stories and bits of tales that all made it clear that surprise was the best aid in battles. He pushed forward and brought his blade around low. He managed to catch one of the goblin’s legs and pulled it out from under him. The goblin fell, hard. Bilbo used his own lack of energy to his advantage and fell forward, driving the blade into the goblin’s chest. He straddled the creatures waist and stabbed him repeatedly.

The goblin gurgled and Bilbo fell over, his blade clutched to his chest.

He was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that I had to write the last chapter. However, ask my readers who read 'Ere the Break of Day' I _love_ writing Thorin. I adore getting into his head, and I'm happiest when I'm deep in his psyche. There was a reason for his butt-ness and he will explain it. Just stick with me for a while longer. :)
> 
> Thanks for the comments... I am simply blown away by the reception this story has gotten. You are all awesome.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early as a wedding present ;)

_Loki: “Say goodbye.”_

_Thor: “Not this day!”_

_Loki: “This day, the next, a hundred years is nothing._  
 _It's a heartbeat. You'll never be ready._  
 _The only woman whose love you prized will be snatched from you._ ”

_Thor: “And will that satisfy you?”_

_Loki: “Satisfaction's not in my nature!”_

_Thor: “Surrender's not in mine!”_

_-Thor: The Dark World_

* * *

__

Gandalf was less than pleased when he finally found him. The wizard was glaring at him with a fury that would have made Bilbo tuck tail on a different day. As was, Bilbo really just wanted to know how everyone was doing. He’d managed to crawl over to Thorin but the dwarf was unconscious.

He had a deep cut on his side that Bilbo had applied pressure to. The red of his blood stood out in horrible contrast to the paleness of Bilbo’s skin.

Óin had come over then and Bilbo was dragged away to their carriage.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The exhaustion had taken him quickly, and wholly. He felt shaky and terrified and it felt like the reality of what he had done decided to settle on his shoulders all at once.

He could have died. He should have died. How had he not died?

His thoughts swirled and he’d wrapped himself in a blanket to try and calm the shaking of his body. He’d curled into the corner of the carriage and tucked his head into his knees. Focusing on his breathing had eased his panic. He slipped into a dark dream full of screams and blood.

“Aew nín...” Gandalf woke him with gentle fingers combing his hair. Bilbo spluttered violently and jerked up.

“The goblins!” He gasped. Gandalf held him still and looked into his eyes. “Thorin-the others!”

“They are well, Aew nín. Do not fret. Are you well?”

“Thorin was bleeding…” Bilbo swallowed and trembled. He felt ill. Gandalf gripped both his arms in large, warm, hands.

“Óin has mended him. He is up and about already. Kíli has an injured arm, and Nori a sprained wrist, but the others are more or less unscathed.”

Bilbo relaxed into Gandalf’s hold and exhaled. He felt as if everything that was within him had been drained. He was empty. His eyes dropped to his blanket covered lap and he studied the stitch pattern to keep from having to think.

“You did well. I was told you killed two goblins.”

“Shadowfax killed one of those.”

“I am sorry you had to fight at all.”

“You don’t have to be. I wanted to help.” Bilbo shrugged and looked up. Gandalf’s face was lined with worry. It always seemed to be worried about Bilbo. He felt like such a burden. Sunlight filtered into the carriage and seemed to make the wrinkles on Gandalf’s wise face all the more obvious.

Sunlight?

“It’s stopped raining?” Bilbo asked dumbly. Gandalf smirked and nodded.

“Yes. You’ve slept through the night.”

“Oh,” Bilbo mouthed, feeling useless. Gandalf’s gaze softened and he gave Bilbo’s arms a loving squeeze before standing swiftly.

“Come. You’ve had enough rest. I think the sun will do you good. We can get you a meal as well. Bombur has made a splendid roasted-something.”

“Something?”

Gandalf winked down at Bilbo as the hobbit got to his feet. “I think it is pork but I would not bet on it.”

Bilbo was quite hungry and a roast, mystery or not, sounded good. He allowed Gandalf to help him out of the carriage and paused on the bottom rung. Sunlight warmed his skin and the smell of fresh rain filled the air. He closed his eyes and turned his face upward. The warmth felt good after his dark dreams. It was real and safe. A beauty that no evil had managed to destroy.

There was a fire lit at the center of their caravan with a spout of some sort of meat. Dwarves were milling about, a few bandaged but all very much alive. The sight made Bilbo’s throat clog up and he had to blink hard to hold back tears.

He was the only one that was supposed to die. It had never even occurred to him that any of them could die.

Bilbo took a seat on one of the logs near the fire and let out a slow breath. Gandalf set a pot of water boiling and Bilbo chuckled. Somethings would apparently never change.

He could smell their dinner in the air and it made his stomach rumble with anticipation. He set his book, which he hadn’t realized he’d taken with him, to the side and looked up right as a plate of food was thrust under his nose.

Meat, potatoes, and a small lump of bread. It looked delicious. Bilbo took the plate and placed it lightly on his lap. “Thank you, Gandalf. This looks lovely.” It did look like pork, but didn’t particularly smell like pork… It would be interesting to learn what it was.

“I am afraid I have treated you unfairly, Daghel.”

Bilbo’s head snapped up and he felt a delighted smile lift his lips. Thorin was standing in front of him. Awkwardly, but very much alive. He had on a blue gambeson and simple braies, no armor evident. He stared at the dwarf in gleeful wonder for a long moment, Thorin was well and alive after all, before he realized he should not be so happy. Bilbo promptly squashed his smile and forced his expression into wary suspicion. “You’re talking to me now?”

Thorin’s eyes slipped shut in a grimace. He stood still and gave his head a small shake. “I deserved that. I am sorry, Ghivashel. (treasure of treasures)” He opened his eyes and Bilbo had to clench his jaw to keep from making any noise. Thorin was focusing on him with a fierce intensity that made Bilbo feel very self aware. He had a hundred percent of the dwarf’s attention.

“For what, exactly.” Bilbo set his meal aside and gave the dwarf his own attention. Thorin seemed to relax slightly at the simple act and promptly sat down in front of Bilbo. Thorin’s haste to do so made it the most ungraceful thing that Bilbo had ever seen him do.

“Everything. For hurting you and making you think that you were not worth my attentions, âzyung (love).”

Bilbo raised his eyebrow and tried very hard not to look hopeful. He didn’t want to be hopeful, but his traitorous heart wanted to get itself broken all over again.

He would never be able to depend on the thing.

“I would explain the reasons for my behaviour, though I do not deserve your ear, or forgiveness.”

“You can explain, majesty.” Bilbo dipped his head in respect and tried to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t sure how Gandalf and Thorin managed it with such ease.

Thorin winced and clenched his fingers on his knees. He dropped his head and exhaled slowly through his nose. Bilbo’s heart was trying to beat harder. He’d had no idea that simply using a title could affect Thorin so much. He wouldn’t have thought anything he could say would have any effect on Thorin. Was he telling the truth then? Did he really want Bilbo’s forgiveness?

“Have you been told about dwarves romantic relationships?”

“Well, I know about the general courtship practices.”

Thorin gave his head a shake and frowned. “No, no. How we love? How we decide who we marry?”

“I assumed you spotted someone you liked and you got to know them. If that spark was there you courted. Like most races in Middle Earth.” His tone was dry but it seemed a bit pointless. Thorin was toying with him. That was all. The dwarf knew of his affections and had decided he would see how far they went.

Thorin shook his head again and lowered his gaze to the ground. Bilbo was startled by just how much he missed the gaze. “Dwarves are different from all other races in that we only ever court once. If our desired does not return our interest we will _never_ choose another. If our desired rejects us we go on without feeling romantic attachment for another. It is a lonely life when it goes awry.”

Bilbo’s mouth popped open. “What?” That was _terrible_.

Thorin’s lips lifted the slightest bit in a wry, self mocking grin. “Few dwarves ever marry. Most are content to remain with their craft and do not look for anything more. When we do though… We do everything fully, Bilbo. We cannot love someone without doing so for always.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” Bilbo asked. His chest ached with the thought that Thorin would probably have rather not met Bilbo than know that the hobbit had affections for him. He knew that Thorin had Frerin, but was it really so terrible to be loved by a simple hobbit?

Bilbo would never judge someone for simply _loving_ another person.

And he had no idea why Thorin had kissed him if dwarves only loved once. The dwarf was a knot of confusion that Bilbo had no idea how to pick apart. He told Bilbo he should never have come, then tried to make sure he stayed safe. He he kissed him and then ran away with a string of khuzdul that Bilbo would obviously not understand. He was nothing but a walking contradiction.

“Everything, Bilbo.” Thorin kept his gaze down but he inched his hand towards Bilbo before returning it to his lap and fisting the fabric of his braies in trembling fingers. “I felt a stirring in my chest the first time I saw you. It caused a flame to flicker to light in my very soul. The pull grew stronger, and the flame brighter, with each meeting, and I became interested.” Thorin swallowed thickly and breathed slowly. His voice was low and resigned. Bilbo disliked it. He missed the warmth Thorin used to have when he spoke.

“I had prepared myself to…and then... the… You passed out.” Thorin grew quiet and his eyes slipped shut. His brow furrowed slightly and his lips dipped down at the corners. He looked utterly pained.

“You found out about my condition.” Bilbo urged gently. He felt like he was getting somewhere, he just wasn’t sure where. Thorin could hardly hurt him any more. All that was left to know was _why_ he had hurt him to begin with.

Thorin’s eyes snapped open and his gaze locked on Bilbo with startling intensity. “Then I found out you were _dying_. I am one-hundred and fifty-six, Bilbo. I will likely live to be two hundred and fifty or so. I have nearly another century to live. Hobbits live an average of ninety to a hundred and ten years, correct?”

Bilbo nodded his head, his heart was starting to pound and he wasn’t getting enough air. Thorin’s gaze was so _fervent_. “That would have meant decades with you, âzyung (love). I could survive thirty years alone for such a length of joy.”

Bilbo’s brain was refusing to work properly. He couldn’t understand what Thorin was saying. He was feeling dizzy. “With such terrible news, I tried to cut off all unnecessary contact with you. I tried to stop my heart from becoming yours.” He shook his head and Bilbo was _shocked_ to see that there were tears in the strong dwarf’s eyes. “I hoped that I could stop any romantic interest in you and save myself from such terrible pain. I could remain your friend for the remainder of your life but continue on.” He choked and swallowed thickly, bowing his head.

“That is why I yelled when you went into the woods. Mahal help me but all I could think about was that you could have been hurt. Your heart could have failed and no one would have known. You would not have the aid you needed and it would be _my fault_.” He shuddered but pressed on.

“Yet still I felt my soul’s call. I stayed far away and refused to look. We were attacked and I could not go without seeing that you were safe. You looked so scared, but so _fierce_.  You defended me and I knew the truth. I am yours Bilbo, and I will be yours regardless of what the future holds. I cannot stop, and do not wish to stop loving you. Even if it is for a short while, I will take every day I can have.” Thorin held Bilbo’s gaze and he could finally decipher what he was seeing in their depths. It was love.

Thorin slid off the log he’d sat himself on and knelt before Bilbo. He took the hobbit’s cold hand in his own and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that it was trembling. “For now until the ending of this world, I am yours, Bilbo Baggins. I do not ask for your heart in return for I can never be worthy of such a jewel. I can only let you know that I will do _anything_ for you.” He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s knuckles and his breath was warm against the skin.

“You love me?” Bilbo asked, utterly flabbergasted. His mind refused to make sense of what he was hearing and his heart was starting to beat harder in his chest. Thorin tilted his head back the slightest bit and looked up at Bilbo with eyes that were all the more blue for the emotions shining in them. He was remarkably pale and Bilbo noticed the bags under his eyes for the first time. The dwarf had clearly not been sleeping. He looked haggard, horrible, and Bilbo could not believe he hadn’t noticed. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I am saying that I crave for your presence. In the most innocent of ways, âzyung (love).” Thorin breathed out. He sat up a bit but held onto Bilbo’s hand.

“I long to see you each and every night. To wish you sweet dreams and kiss your forehead as you slip away to sleep. I long to hold you through the night and wake you with a kiss and murmur of my adoration for you. I long to be by your side when you are weary and sad so that I may have the chance to return the smile to your lips and the laughter to your voice. I wish for the honor of protecting you and guarding you in all circumstances. I long to be always at your side. That is what I wish, Bilbo. All that you are so that I may cherish it for always. I am not worthy of you, but alas, I am selfish, and I will not lie to you.”

Bilbo dropped his eyes to their joined hands. It was too much to keep looking at Thorin. “I thought you hated me.” His voice was horribly small, and it wasn’t the right thing to say, but it was all Bilbo could say. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Thorin, but he was frightened.

“I will never hate you, Daghel. I hated myself for not being able to properly express my heart. I have hated the Valar for giving you such an illness.” He gave his head a small shake. “That is why I left after you told me the truth. I did not want you to see my rage.”

Bilbo gave in to the pull and lifted his head. His eyes caught Thorin’s and his heart gave a very hard thump. Before he quite knew what he was about, Bilbo was leaning forward. He curved one of his hands around the back of Thorin’s neck to tangle in thick locks that tickled his palm. He pressed forward and pulled Thorin closer, and then crushed their mouths together with a clatter of teeth.

Thorin promptly gentled the kiss and lifted his own hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek in its warmth. He moved his mouth against Bilbo’s in a delightfully intoxicating way and tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand. The dwarf’s warmth seemed to seep through Bilbo to his core, melting the chill that always seemed to reside there. The hobbit gasped in wonder, and Thorin’s tongue licked into his mouth. He groaned into Thorin’s mouth as the dwarf pressed even closer. He tightened his grip on the dwarf’s hair and felt Thorin shiver in response.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed against him, into his mouth, like a murmured prayer.

Urgency washed over Bilbo and he scrambled forward. He hauled himself closer to Thorin, settling on the dwarf’s lap and melding their chest as closely together as he could. He freed his hand from Thorin’s and wrapped it around the dwarf’s neck to hold onto him. He began to shake and could feel water fill his eyes.

Thorin stood up abruptly. He gripped Bilbo to his chest with his left arm and scooped his legs up with the right. He held him close and slipped away from the fire to the wagons and carriage with steady steps. Bilbo tucked his head into Thorin’s shoulders and tried to hold his tears in.

“I love you,” he murmured into Thorin’s shirt. He let himself say it because he finally knew it would be returned. He had the one thing he had wanted more than anything else and he wouldn’t be able to cherish it for long but he’d cherish it while he could. He had questions to ask, so many question, but that would wait.

Thorin stopped moving forward and Bilbo could feel his strong arms tremble where they held him close. He dipped his head and pressed his lips against the top of Bilbo’s head. His lips tickled his curls as he murmured over him. Bilbo didn’t understand the khuzdul, but the harsh syllables sounded sweeter than elvish poetry. “Bilbo... ughelek uaklatâ. Akhùthuzh men âzyung meu. Men Daghel... Men ghivashel. Men oabhyûr âzyung menu.”

(Bilbo...that is good to hear. I will love you forever. My Daghel... My treasure of treasures. I am not worthy of your love. )

They sounded like promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins Thorn's explanation and groveling. He might want to watch out for Gandalf. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

_Well, you'll remember me a little. I'll be a story in your head. But that's okay... we're all stories, in the end._  
 _Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know. It was the best._   
_\- The Doctor_

* * *

The carriage felt extremely quiet. Stiflingly so.

Thorin carried him up into it with ease born from his admirable strength. The dwarf deposited him gently on the bench that Bilbo usually slept on and brushed his fingers down Bilbo’s arms as he released him.

He kept the door wide open. That felt like a nice touch to Bilbo. He wasn’t really sure why.

Thorin knelt in front of him and looked at him with adoration that was almost too much for Bilbo to keep looking at. He was utterly breathless and slightly dizzy. He had no idea what happened now.

“I heard you that night.” Bilbo finally whispered, and then he wondered why he had said that.

Thorin’s brow wrinkled in confusion. He took Bilbo’s hand in his own and ran his thumb in soothing strokes along Bilbo’s knuckles. It felt extremely intimate and Bilbo craved more. “I am sorry?”

“When I took Shadowfax to the stream? I heard you and Gandalf that night…”

“Ghivashel (treasure of all treasures),” Thorin breathed, his voice mournful. “I am sorry for how that must have sounded. You must know that it was not hate that I spoke with.” He clutched Bilbo’s other hand as well and peered up at him with such an earnest expression that Bilbo was helpless to interrupt. “I was furious with myself that I had caused you to run into the woods, again, because I could not articulate that I had worried about you.” He leaned forward, and his eyes seemed all the brighter for the amount of earnest in them. “You tongue-tie me, Bilbo. I find myself unable to say the most simple things in regard to you.”

He shook his head and pressed closer. “I was never disappointed with you. Gandalf irritated me because he reminded me of just how I was failing in regards to you. He could not see that I was already very aware of your absence. I was searching for you.”

“You said you didn’t want to be responsible for me. That I was a fool for loving you.” Bilbo muttered. He wanted to just hug and kiss Thorin and pretend none of it had ever happened but he couldn’t.

Thorin dropped his head to Bilbo’s knees. He trembled and Bilbo felt his mouth pop open in shock.

He really did have an affect on the dwarf. Quite an affect.

“I cannot be responsible for you fate, Daghel. There is nothing I can do. I am useless in regards to you. I would give up my own heart in a moment if it could save you. I am not a healer, I am a warrior and a blacksmith. I am of no use. I cannot protect you.” He pressed closer and Bilbo could feel his breath against his trousers. “I cannot save you.” He shook his head, his nose bumping against Bilbo’s shins. “You could find much better, Bilbo.” He was still for a moment. “But I do not want you to find another. It is foolish for you to love me, when I am incapable of explaining myself, hurt you when I try to say that I am worried, and fail to protect you. What good am I as a potential mate? I cannot even provide for the most basic need.”

“Is that why you don’t want me here?”

“What?” Thorin kept his head down, but Bilbo could feel him stiffening all over.

“You keep saying I shouldn’t have come, that I don’t belong.”

Thorin drew back very slowly and looked at Bilbo with wide, shocked eyes. “Because you should not have left the Shire. You should not be on so dangerous a journey. The elf king should have been made to come to you. You are ill, men âzyung (my love)… if you can make so perilous a journey the, khathuzhûn al u’hubma igbil. U’shekur dharg mahhubmu-” (the elf can get off his lazy arse. The cowardly piece of troll shit-) Thorin cut himself off abruptly and swallowed thickly. He gave his head another shake and breathed very slowly. “Then the ‘king’ should be able to.” He made the title sound like a grievous insult. Bilbo was mildly impressed.

“Again I have failed in making myself clear. I was never angry at you beloved. Gandalf and Thranduil had my wrath.”

There was just one last thing Bilbo needed to know. One last question he had. “What about Frerin?”

Thorin’s eyebrows drew together and his nose wrinkled in confusion. “Frerin? What about him?”

Bilbo sat straighter and tugged his hands free. Thorin watched them go, his face dropping into utter heartbreak before he carefully masked it. “You have affection for him. If you love me, then what about him?”

Thorin’s face wrinkled again and his eyes dropped down and to the side as he mouthed Frerin’s name. Then, like flipping a page in a book, his expression cleared, his eyes widened, and his lips twitched up. “Frerin? You do not know who he is, do you ghivashel (treasure of all treasures)?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I’d rather not meet him.” Thorin laughed, and Bilbo’s chest felt like he had just been punched. His breath whooshed out of him and his heart pounded weakly.

“Ghivashel, men Bilbo… (treasure of all treasures, my Bilbo…) Frerin is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Bilbo repeated weakly. Thorin nodded and then he was pushing himself up, his hands on either side of Bilbo’s legs. He paused with his face a few inches from Bilbo’s and stared at him with a smile and eyes that seemed to glow.

“Bilbo,” he said quietly. Bilbo couldn’t move or respond, he was utterly breathless. Thorin kissed one corner of his mouth, the other, his jaw, his cheek, his nose, his cheekbone, his eyelids... The dwarf’s lips skimmed over Bilbo’s face like feather light things. In between each kiss he was murmuring in a mix of khuzdul and common. “You are so beautiful, mizim (jewel)… Izrûkh menu onât akhùthuzh... (I long for you always.) I do not deserve you... Bilbo… Ghivashel… Bilbo...”

Bilbo grasped Thorin’s upper arms and his fingers shook against the warm muscles hidden by thin fabric. Thorin paused in his worship of Bilbo’s face and drew back slightly, looking at Bilbo. He felt tears splash down his face and he was utterly helpless to stop them. “I-I love you.” He mumbled, and then he said it again because it made the painful lump in his throat ease a little. Thorin’s rapturous expression changed to one of deep sorrow and the painful lump grew larger.

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, and found himself saying nothing as Thorin clasped his head and brought their foreheads close together. Blue eyes, wet and determined, filled his vision.

"I will be here for you," Thorin promised, his voice little more than a deep rumble, “I will be at your side for every step. You are the one whom I love, no matter what state your heart is in. I will defend you to my dying breath, and I will never leave you. This I swear, with Mahal himself as my witness, on the heart of Erebor.”

-[]-[]-[]-

The door had been left open for propriety's sake, apparently. Gandalf would have followed and knocked Thorin senseless if he’d shut it.

Everyone in camp was aware of the change in their relationship, and there was an honest-to-Eru cheer when they stepped back out of the carriage. Thorin had his arm draped over Bilbo’s shoulders and it took all of the hobbit’s strength not to hide his face in Thorin’s side.

He’d simply walked to his previous spot and sat down. While Thorin went to Gandalf. The two walked away from camp together and Bilbo felt a flair of worry for his dwarf.

Gandalf had not looked amused.

He ate his now cold dinner and drank his tea. Storm clouds rolled overhead and Bilbo saw other dwarves send furtive glances at the spot that the dwarf and wizard had disappeared.

"He won't actually hurt Uncle, will he?" Kili asked and plopped down in the seat next to Bilbo.

"I have no idea." Bilbo answered honestly. "I'm not even sure why they're talking."

"He's asking permission, of course." Kili said with a flip of his hand.

"For what?"

Kili looked at Bilbo as if he didn't think Bilbo was all that smart. "To court you, of course!" He turned his head to stare at the fire. "He'll want to do it properly. Gandalf is the nearest thing to proper as he can get. He'll be a legend." Kili added with a laugh. "Asking a wizard and all."

Bilbo gazed down at his half empty plate with a gaping mouth. Thorin wanted to court him?

why? There wasn't a point... he wasn't going to live long enough to marry Thorin.

And oh, that hurt to think about. Thorin would live long after Bilbo was gone. If he really did love Bilbo, and dwarves couldn't love again, then Bilbo had condemned him to a horribly lonely life.

He couldn't be that cruel. He couldn't give the dwarf false hope.

He'd simply have to say no. He couldn't do that to Thorin. He loved him too much.

He took his dinner back up and finished off the last of his potatoes and set his plate to the side.

Thorin and Gandalf returned. Thorin headed towards him with a timid smile that made Bilbo’s chest knot up with want.

“May I braid this in your hair, Daghel?” He opened his palm and revealed a familiar green bead. “It is a courtship bead. To braid it in your hair means that I have requested the honor of courting you.” Bilbo’s heart squeezed and he felt his mouth drop open as he realized where he’d first seen it.

Thorin had intended on courting him before he’d passed out. He had loved him for a long time then.

The bead was made from jade and had runes designed in emerald. Tiny metal hinges held it shut and Bilbo marveled that anyone could make something so small, so detailed.

Thorin looked terrified. His blue eyes were intense with fear and his hand was slowly moving back. Pain was showing on his face and it made something terrible and sharp well up in Bilbo's chest.

His head nodded almost before he realized it was moving. Thorin’s eyes brightened immediately and a huge grin lifted his lips. He reached for a lock of Bilbo’s hair and pulled it loose from the other curls. He held still for a long moment, and Bilbo noticed he was trying to keep his hands still.

His silly grin grew wider.

Thorin wove the strands together in a pattern Bilbo had only seen on one dwarf (Ori) in the company, and then clasped it shut with the bead. He kissed the bead before sitting back and staring at Bilbo with starry eyes.

“What-what do I do?” Bilbo murmured. He was very aware of all the eyes on him. Most were happy, but Gandalf’s was a very intense thing.

Bilbo returned the gaze. He knew he was being selfish. Loving Thorin would be the most selfish thing he could ever do. He wasn't strong enough to walkaway.

He didn't want to.

“Braid a bead in my hair. I have wove a courtship braid in your hair. Traditionally you would do one in your families pattern. Since you do not have such a thing, you may braid any style you like.”

“I don’t have a bead.”  Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue bead that was in the same style as the green one Bilbo now wore. Bilbo took it with clumsy fingers before looking back up at Thorin. “Where do I put it?”

“Somewhere on the left side of my head. The side with my heart.” Thorin sat in front of Bilbo and tilted his head to the side so that Bilbo had full access to his hair. Bilbo considered the strands for a moment before deciding he would do a braid after a knot. It was one that fishers used, and was one of the only knots Bilbo knew how to do. The chain hitch it was.

He deftly braided the locks with fingers that were remarkably still. Thorin’s hair was delightfully soft and thick, and smelled like linseed. He wanted the chance to comb it out at some point. Bilbo imagined it would be relaxing and methodic…

He clasped the bead and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a tiny kiss to the blue stone and let it drop back over Thorin’s shoulder.

It would have been a promise if he was a different hobbit. As was, it was just a wish.

Bilbo was not about to focus on that right now. His heart had stolen away most moments of his life, he wasn’t going to let it touch this one.

Thorin grabbed the braid and brought it around so that he could look at it. “A fisherman’s knot?” he asked with an odd tone to his voice. Bilbo nodded his head slowly, feeling confused. Thorin looked at him with bright eyes and lips that were curved up in a full, breathtaking smile.

He laughed.

“Daghel, thank you.” He grasped Bilbo’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it. A slow, warm kiss that made Bilbo’s toes curl in anticipation.

Anticipation for nothing. The dwarf took the seat beside him again and lifted his notebook up. “You often have this with you. What is it?”

Bilbo took the book and set it in his lap. He ran his fingers along the familiar leather and twirled the bookmark through the fingers of his other hand. “Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted to do?” Thorin nodded his head, a solemn look on his face. “I told you that I had dreams and wishes?”

“Bilbo,” Thorin gasped, his hand reached for the leather before he moved it back to his knee. He clenched the fabric. Bilbo stopped tracing the elvish inscription on the cover and took Thorin’s hand. He set Thorin’s hand on top of the leather.

“It’s a wish book. It has a little of everything in it. I write down events that happen occasionally, fun stories I hear, things I’d like to do, and places I’d like to see. I save little bits of things as well. Anything flat, or pressable.”

“It is the story of your life, then.” Bilbo nodded his head.

“Yes, I guess it is.” He grasped Thorin’s other hand and looped the dwarf’s arm around his shoulders. He leaned into the warm embrace and transferred the book to Thorin’s lap. “You can look at it.” He closed his eyes and listened to the steady beating of Thorin’s heart. The sunlight was nearly spent and the night was growing chilly. He’d be sent back to the carriage in just a bit.

Until Gandalf made him move though, Bilbo was going to stay wrapped in Thorin’s embrace and cherish the moment.

“So… You’re royalty.”

Thorin’s arm tightened around his shoulders and he nodded his head. “Yes, I am a prince of Erebor. Next in line for the throne.” He nodded towards Fíli, and Kíli who were talking to Balin  by the ponies. “They are my sisters sons and my heirs.”

“Fíli will be the king after you?” Thorin nodded his head. “I can see that.”

“Most do not see past his youth.”

Bilbo pressed closer to Thorin and savored the warmth that seemed to radiate off the dwarf. “How are you not already promised to someone?”

“Like marriage?” Bilbo nodded his head and kept his gaze down. He didn’t want to look into Thorin’s face in case he was wrong and the dwarf was pledged to someone.

“Yes.”

“Dwarves very rarely-if ever- have arranged marriages. They only occur when the continuation of the line is needed. As my sister has already had two sons, it was not necessary. We believe that marriage should be for love. It is not fair to either individual otherwise.”

Bilbo blinked while he considered that. It made sense. If dwarves loved rarely, they would not be interested in marrying just for a co-ruler. “So you had no one?”

“And I will never have anyone else. Only you, Bilbo.”

“But I’m dy-”

“Do not say it.” Thorin’s grip was almost painful for how tight it suddenly was. “Do not speak the word. I cannot bear to hear it again. I will carry you to Thranduil if I must. I will not let you di-I will not let you, Daghel.”

Bilbo kept his mouth shut. He didn’t mention that there was a very good chance it wouldn’t matter if Thorin was willing to let him die or not.

“Will your father accept me being your intended? I mean… I am a hobbit. And a male.”

“It will not matter. I have given you my heart, no one will question that. So long as I hold yours they will not mind. The line is secure in Fíli and Kíli.”

“But I don’t have any court training. Or any social training really. I’ve had very little contact with others.”

It felt a little silly. Bilbo wasn’t going to live long enough to see any of this actually come to pass. It was all just pretend. Nothing more.

“That will not matter. You will be taught. Dís will adore you and be happy to teach you all that you need to know.”

“I’ll be your consort…”

“If you do not break our courtship, then yes. I-I hope that will not change your mind, âzyung.”

“What does that mean? âzyung.”

“Love.” Thorin answered promptly. His tone held a layer of nervousness that made Bilbo feel oddly powerful.

“Well, âzyung, I won’t be breaking any courtship. I will not, however, be responsible for any goofs I make because I don’t know something.”

“I will correct any errors with joy.” Thorin assured him. He brushed his lips over the top of Bilbo’s curls and held him close.

Bilbo let himself believe the future they were talking about could actually happen. Regardless of what the future held, Bilbo would not now be leaving the earth without a mark.

Without a story worth telling.


	10. Chapter 10

_No. No, you can't... STOP. Please don't go away. Please? No one's ever stuck with me for so long before. And if you leave... if you leave..._  
 _I just, I remember things better with you. I do, look. P. Sherman, forty-two... forty-two... I remember it, I do._  
 _It's there, I know it is, because when I look at you, I can feel it. And-and I look at you, and I... and I'm home._  
 _Please... I don't want that to go away. I don't want to forget._   
_-Finding Nemo_

* * *

 

The days grew warmer as they made it down the mountain side. It was spring, finally, and the world seemed to burst with the life it had been forced to hide during the winter.

Bilbo loved the warmth. It made him feel more alive than winters chill. The days were longer as well, which meant Bilbo didn’t end up sleeping through all the sunlit hours.

He was sleeping more.

Right now it was well past midday. Bilbo would guess it was around four. The sun was lower in the sky, and it made the carriage seem bright in the warm, orange light. He was alone in the carriage and a bit bored. The carriage was jostling about roughly on the road, so he didn’t want to risk actually walking.

Thorin had increased their travel speed. During the morning hours, when Bilbo was sleeping, they traveled as fast as  possible. He pushed the horses, ponies, and wagons to their limit in an attempt to shave time of their journey.

It made for less pleasant traveling conditions, but Bilbo hardly noticed that. It was something that never failed to make him feel utterly loved and treasured whenever he thought of it.

When they stopped in the evenings Thorin would come and fetch him from the carriage. If it was a good day Bilbo would join the dwarves in whatever fun they had decided on. They’d gotten hold of his wish-list, and they’d already managed to mark off several of them.

Bilbo crossed another item off his list, and sighed. He’d never had such friends before. He had Gandalf, but the wizard was different. He wasn’t really a friend… He was Bilbo’s family. The only family he had. Gandalf would move heaven and earth for him, and was currently doing his best to escort Bilbo to the only healer in Middle Earth that might be able to save him.

And Bilbo was really starting to hope that the healer could. For the first time in far too long a time, he wanted to live. He wanted it desperately. It hardly seemed fair that he should finally learn what living, really living, was like only to lose it all.

A tear fell on his list and Bilbo watched more fall with a numb feeling growing in his chest.

_Write an original story_   
_Kiss under a mistletoe_   
_Learn a dance of a different culture._   
_Kiss in the rain_   
_Dance in the rain_   
_Learn to swim_   
_Walk behind a waterfall_   
_Get a tattoo_   
_Have a picnic with at least five friends_   
_Fall in love_   
_Dance at a wedding_   
_Learn five languages_

They blurred together as more tears fell, until Bilbo couldn’t make anything out but blurs of cream and black. Blurs of pointless dreams.

He was scared. He was terrified of the future. He was tired all the time and he always seemed short of breath nowadays. His heart was running out of time.

He didn’t want to die.

Bilbo had lost so much in his life. His parents had died when he was child, he’d been sent from home to home until Gandalf had adopted him. He’d been an outcast because of his love of adventures, and then his heart had started to die.

Why him? Why did it always have to be Bilbo? What did the Valar and Eru have against him? It felt like they heaped every bad thing that could happen on his head and expected him to keep soldiering on.

Bilbo was tired of soldiering on. He was tired of it all, and he was so scared. It was like an actual presence in the carriage, his fear. A giant, tangible, thing that was reaching out to claim him. Bilbo had been running from it all his life but he couldn’t run anymore. He was exhausted and defenseless, helpless to stop his body from shaking as the tentacles of terror wrapped around his mind.

Bilbo scooted as far back on the bench as he could and wrapped his arms around himself. His entire body was trembling and his skin felt clammy. He ducked his head and pressed it against his knees as he tried to breathe. His heart was racing, fluttering against his ribs like a frightened bird banging against the bars of its cage.

Aew Nín. How fitting.

The carriage gave a particularly violent jerk and Bilbo jostled forward. His arm flailed out in an overdone attempt at balancing, and he knocked his notebook over. Feathers, leaves, petals, parchment, threads, sketches, scraps of lace, and locks of hair, scattered across the floor of the carriage. Bilbo scrambled after them with clumsy, desperate finger and scooped them all to his chest.

He pulled the book close and flipped it open. He carefully thumbed through the pages and deposited the precious items back where they belonged. Each one was a memory of something incredible, and he wouldn’t lose any of them.

Each was a memory… Each told a story of something fantastic. Something worth living for.

Oh…

Oh.

Bilbo was a fool. He had a literal book filled with memories. He had hardly left his house for the last fifteen years and he still had a book with pages that were stuffed with happy thoughts. Happy memories and silly adventures.

The Valar had given him a life that he had done very little with. He only had a little time left-if the trip failed-and he was wasting it. He was crying it away!

This was all he had. It was damaged, and surrounded by cotton to keep it from getting further hurt, but it was his. This was the only life he would ever get. He couldn’t just waste it crying. He was locking himself away in the carriage for hours simply so no one would see him weak. Simply so he could sleep without feeling self conscious.

A frantic sense of urgency settled on Bilbo’s shoulders and he scrambled to his feet. He stumbled to the carriage wall and banged on it three times. The carriage drew to an abrupt stop and Bilbo rushed to get out before Gandalf could fetch him. He went to the front of the carriage where Gandalf was already climbing down and held up his hands. Other dwarves were drawing near, all looking alarmed. Thorin was pale and it would have made Bilbo laugh if he didn’t feel so urgent.

“I want to ride out here.” Bilbo declared with hands on his hip. Gandalf looked down at him with a frown.

“What?”

“I want to ride up front, beside you. It’s a lovely day and I’m tired of sleeping in the carriage.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows rose up so high they disappeared into his hat. “What?”

“You are okay?” Thorin asked, his body relaxing as Bilbo nodded. The hobbit stood up straighter and met Gandalf’s gaze head on and confident. He was only a little breathless, and that was because he’d gotten scared in the carriage.

“You will need your hat.” Gandalf finally said. Bilbo nodded his head and stepped back only to feel something be dropped on his head. It tipped over his eyes and settled atop his nose.

“Wha-”

“He can wear mine.” Strong arms wrapped around his middle and hoisted him up onto the front bench of the carriage. Once he was settled down Bilbo tipped the hat back and found himself looking at a beaming, and hatless Bofur.

It was an odd sight. He almost didn’t look like Bofur. The sparkle in his eye was extra pronounced though, and made up for the lack of hat.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, suddenly feeling shy. Every dwarf that could see him was staring at him, and Thorin had that gaze. The one that made his entire face soft and wistful, tender and longing… It always made Bilbo feel breathless in a delightful way, and made him want to leap up on Minty and smother Thorin’s bearded face in kisses.

He settled in beside Gandalf and let the sun warm his skin. The other dwarves returned to their spots in the caravan and Thorin turned Minty around so he was in lead again. He waited a moment and then urged the pony onward.

Bilbo shut his eyes and listened to the conversation drift around him. He felt like a part of the caravan, and it made something light and hopeful flutter to life in his chest.

He’d have to get locks of hair from the other dwarves. He’d get a bit of yarn from Ori, some herbs from Óin, a bit of wood from Bifur, tea from Dori, tobacco from Bofur, and of course, yarn from Ori. That would represent his friends well. He could stuff his book a bit more.

He’d make it into a book of things that were, not things that weren’t.

-[]-[]-[]-

They made it to the bottom of the mountain. Bilbo had been able to see the Greenwoods from the top and it made his heart rush to actually see their destination.

It was about two hundred miles away.

Bilbo refused to let that sadden him. He kept riding up front with Gandalf, usually wearing his straw hat until Ori gave him a new one that he had made. It was styled like Gandalf’s, which had made both him and Gandalf laugh.

And Thorin continued to court him. Even though Bilbo hardly had any energy and slept for hours more than was respectable, the dwarf courted him with a passion that left Bilbo breathless and feeling cherished.

There were numerous gifts. Mostly tiny things that just made Bilbo smile. He often woke up to find flowers had been woven into his hair at some point in his sleep, occasionally with a feather added in. Thorin also gave him jewelry. There was a pendant on a silver chain that was smooth on one side and bore a crown with seven stars on the other. It was the crest of his family line. There was also an ear cuff which marked him as being courted by royalty as well as marking ‘ear pierced’ off his list. (He didn’t even remember writing that one down.)

Right now he was laying in a grass field a few hundred yards away from the rest of the camp. It was about as private as one could get when they were part of a caravan.

“What did you say this was?” Thorin inquired quietly as he took the pot of ointment that Óin was kind enough to make for him.

“It’s a mixture of ginkgo, rosemary, rosehip, and chokeberry.”

“That would account for the odd scent.” Thorin mumbled. He untied the strip of fabric off the top of the pot and poured a small amount on his hands. He eyed Bilbo. “You will need to be on your stomach, Daghel.”

“Will you ever tell me what that means?” Bilbo asked as he did what he was told. He was supposed to put the ‘ointment’ on twice a day. It was a sticky job that took forever by himself. Thorin had offered to do it this evening, and Bilbo had agreed.

“In time.” The dwarf whispered the words against his ear before placing a soft, warm, lingering kiss to the tip of his ear. Bilbo shivered and tried to think of something clever to say. It was hard to think of much of anything when Thorin was so near.

Thorin's hands were surprisingly gentle when he began to actually rub the ointment onto Bilbo’s back. His large fingers drew small circles into the skin, and it was a little odd to Bilbo. He’d had ointment rubbed into his skin a thousand times, by at least five different people. He was used to the rubbing motion. Gandalf did it most often, and the wizard’s hands, while rough, were always gentle. Thorin’s hands were gentle, but also tender. Which Bilbo couldn’t really describe how they were tender, only that they were.

He let his eyes slip closed as Thorin continued to tend to him. The touch of slick, calloused fingers seemed to draw a spell around him, blocking out the rest of the world. Thorin was warm beside him, and the soft brush of fabric against his side made Bilbo drift further into the place between sleep and awake. The place where he was aware of everything and nothing.

The hands stopped far too soon for Bilbo’s liking, and Thorin rested his forehead against the hobbit’s shoulder with a quiet murmur of khuzdul.  It took Bilbo several long moments to draw himself out of the quiet state he’d fallen into. Thorin didn’t move and he wondered if the dwarf had fallen asleep.

Then Bilbo realized that Thorin was tracing his finger along Bilbo’s side in little swirls and sharp angles. Runes. He found himself very, very aware of the tiny contact. It was a little silly that the little touch was what drew his attention, but he couldn’t force his attention away from it. His breath, and he could feel Thorin’s warm breath against his back. It made him shiver in an unfamiliar way. He turned his head a bit, just enough to look at Thorin. The dwarf raised his head and locked eyes with him.

“Thorin?”

The dwarf blinked slowly, and Bilbo realized just how close he was. He was hyper aware of where all they were touching and he wanted to increase the amount of contact. Thorin leaned forward and kissed him, lips carefully covering Bilbo’s lower lips before his tongue slipped in. He pulled back after too short a moment and peered down at Bilbo with cautious eyes.

Bilbo rolled over and reached up. He grasped Thorin’s cheeks in his hands and dragged his face back down. He pressed their lips together, a bit clumsily but Thorin never judged, and he felt the dwarf relax beside him.

He leaned forward so that more of his chest was pressed against Thorin. Thorin’s hand grasped the back of his head and tilted him a bit so that he could deepen the kiss. He moved over so that he was  straddling Bilbo’s waist and they had to break apart while he moved. Bilbo stared up at him, his eyes wide and probably a little awed. Thorin’s dark hair fell over his shoulders, and the bead in the braid Bilbo had made caught the sunlight. It flashed brightly and Bilbo’s heart flipped. He reached up for the dwarf and Thorin suddenly pressed closer, increasing the contact like Bilbo had wanted all along. Bilbo brought one hand around to Thorin’s back so he could feel the cloth covered muscles while the other dug into the soft hair that always called to Bilbo’s fingers.

His strikingly blue eyes were intent and made Bilbo realize just how breathless he was. “Bilbo,” he said in his beautiful, deep voice. His hair had fallen around them, encasing them in the dark and blocking the rest of the weary world away. Warmth and something so wonderfully painful it had to be love, surged through Bilbo and made him quake.

He lived for moments like these.


	11. Chapter 11

_“Five card stud, nothing wild. And the sky’s the limit”_   
_-Star Trek: The Next Generation_

* * *

 

Bilbo wasn’t really sure how Thorin managed to sneak into the carriage. Gandalf was sleeping on the bench across from them, but he hadn’t woken up whenever the dwarf had come in. He was snoring quite loudly, actually.

Bilbo himself had woken up with a start and a muffled scream. He’d been falling in his dream. The darkness had tried to crush him, and he’d been unable to breathe through it.

Thorin had been sitting in front of him with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and a very worried expression. His hand cupped Bilbo’s cheek and the hobbit relaxed. “Daghel?”

“It was a dream. Just a dream.” He was breathless… He lost his breath a lot these days. He was growing weaker. He tried not to let on, to act as if he was just as well as ever. He still caught Gandalf watching him with a worried, sad gaze. Thorin also followed him around wherever possible, helping him walk when it became difficult.

“A nightmare?” Bilbo nodded his head and sat up slowly with Thorin’s assistance. His limbs felt worn out, like he had run or fought. He patted the seat beside his and waited for Thorin to join him. The dwarf passed him the flowers and took the seat. He scooted back until he was pressed against the wall of the carriage and lifted his arm for Bilbo to duck under.

He did and held the flowers close. He loved their smell. It was a sweet, almost sorrowful scent. They were nearly the color of Thorin’s eyes as well. He held them close and brushed the tips of his fingers along the delicate petals.

Bilbo could relate to flowers. They were beautiful, and full of vibrant life and color that brightened the lives of whoever saw them. They were also extremely fragile and lasted for a very short while. They came into the world and disappeared, only to be remembered by the tree they had helped and the memory they left.

"Do you wish to talk about it? The nightmare.” Thorin’s voice rumbled through the darkness with a quiet intensity. The sound of it made Bilbo feel safe. He moved closer to the dwarf and pressed his cheek against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his chest was comforting. Bilbo could stay with it quite happily.

“There isn’t anything to talk about. It was just… darkness.” The arm around his shoulder tightened and a hand trailed up from his elbow to his shoulder before going back down.

“I never remember my nightmares." Thorin mumbled. It sounded more like a confession than anything. Almost an apology. As if Thorin felt guilty that Bilbo would remember what scared him while Thorin could forget.

He had a lot to forget. He had a lot of horrors that he always remembered.

Bilbo leaned back into Thorin's hold and listened to the rain gently hitting the top of the carriage. It had caused Thorin to smell like fresh rain and he inhaled the scent now. He didn’t have the energy to do anything but think about his own nightmares and try to remember a time when they weren't about suffocating darkness. He remembered dreaming about a dragon once. A giant thing with too many teeth and claws that had come to take him away in the night. He had been ten when he last had that dream.

Funny that he preferred that dream to reality. In nightmares he could run. Nightmares had the courtesy of being something big and evil. Something you could fight against.

He couldn't fight against his reality. He couldn't fight against a failing heart. His dying body was his enemy in his waking hours.

Even the stubbornness of a dwarf couldn't fight against that.

He was so tired.

“Most people only remember the fear.” Bilbo said and closed his eyes. Thorin was warm under his tunic. “I think it’s better to remember.”

“Fear by itself is often worse than fearing a specific thing.” Thorin agreed. He wrapped his arm more firmly around Bilbo’s shoulders and held him close. “We fear what we do not know or cannot escape.”

“Fear is a lie.” Bilbo murmured. The words were a little garbled. He was almost asleep again.

“Daghel?”

Bilbo blinked and forced himself to think. “Something Gandalf always said. Fear is a consequence of believing a lie.” He yawned and his eyes drooped before he forced them open again. Gandalf was still snoring in the corner. It was a strangely comforting sound. “He told me that anytime something scared me I could trace it back to a lie I had believed.” Thorin digested that for a moment and Bilbo tried to keep his eyes open.

“Most fears are about something that might kill us. Is that too a lie?”

“Yes. Death isn’t terrible. It’s necessary. We all have to, eventually. We know where we go, we just have to believe that we will. Thinking death is the end is the lie.”

Thorin’s hand was rubbing up and down his arm. It felt nice. The flowers perfume was drifting around the carriage and the sweet scent was making the darkness seem less dominate. “The Wizard is wise…” Thorin mumbled. His chest rumbled under Bilbo’s ear.

“What happens to dwarves when they die? Where do they go?”

“We are preserved in stone statues. We wait in that form until Mahal calls on us for the final battle. ” Thorin rested his cheek against the top of Bilbo’s head.

“I wonder if Yavanna would talk Aüle into allowing me to join you.” He nuzzled his nose against the soft fabric and let his eyes slip shut. “I think forever would be lonely without you. She’s married to Aüle, I think she’d understand.” He pressed closer.

He was asleep a moment later, and he didn’t hear the prayers and pleas Thorin whispered.

-[]-[]-[]-

“Come, Daghel,” Thorin peered up at him with a smile that made Bilbo feel slightly dizzy. He clutched onto the doorway to the carriage and looked down at the smiling face with a raised eyebrow.

“Why?”

Thorin’s grin just broadened. The rain continued to pour down, soaking him to the beard. It seemed to Bilbo that Thorin looked best when he was wet. His skin glowed and his eyes took on an extra sparkle. His hair always looked darker, and his eyelashes looked far longer when they were wet.

It also invariably reminded him of the first time they’d ever met. That made his stomach tighten and his heart flutter more noticeably. He’d been innocently stunned the first time he had seen the dwarf, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he found the dwarves form very pleasing.

Of course, he could barely kiss Thorin without losing his  breath so anything else was off the table.

“I wish to dance.”

“What?” Bilbo kept staring at the dwarf, waiting for him to repeat himself and make it clear that he had misheard him.

“Right now. I would like to dance with you, daghel. “ He tilted the top half of his body closer and grinned wolfishly. It made Bilbo’s stomach swoop. “And kiss you. If I am so fortunate.”

“Why?”

“Because you are delectable, my Daghel.” Bilbo laughed, a bright, loud sound that he couldn’t stop and Thorin beamed.

“No you silly dwarf! Why do you want to dance?” Thorin climbed up the first step of the carriage so he was almost eye level with Bilbo.

“Because I simply must be near you, kurdu.”

“Kurdu?” Bilbo was helpless against the tiny grin that lifted his lips. Thorin was forever calling him khuzdul words. He was slowly amassing quite a vocabulary of the words. One day he would learn just what ‘daghel’ meant.

“Heart.” Bilbo felt his own melt a little. “Will you dance with me, Bilbo?” he took another step. “Please?” He held his soaked hand out, palm up. Bilbo dropped his gaze to it and nodded his head. He placed his hand in the larger one and let Thorin help him down the carriage. The dwarf led him away from the carriage and behind the wagon. When they cleared them Bilbo saw all twelve dwarves, and Gandalf, standing in a large circle. Several had instruments and they were all smiling expectantly as the two approached.

“Thorin?”

The prince turned towards him slowly and tugged him nearer with the hand he had. Bilbo went willingly, pressing his free hand flat against Thorin’s chest, over his heart. Thorin placed his other hand over Bilbo’s waist and looked at him for a long moment.

The dwarf had incredible eyes. They were blue, of course, but a blue that was so pale it was almost silver. The irises were outlined with a dark blue, and streaks of grey dashed through. He was light in all the places Bilbo was dark.

“Bilbo,” Thorin started. He worked his mouth as though he had more to say, but he clicked it shut again without actually saying anything. They were so close that Bilbo had to peer up to look at his face. The rain was cold where it splashed against his skin and dripped off his hair, but Thorin was warm enough that he didn’t care.

Thorin gave his head a quick nod and the dwarves started playing. It was a sweet, unhurried tune that made Bilbo curl closer to Thorin. The dwarves not playing an instrument started to sing in khuzdul and Bilbo let his eyes slip close and a grin lift his lips.

Thorin tightened his grip and started to lead him in slow, lazy circles. He hummed low in his chest along to the tune and Bilbo wanted to shiver at the deep sound. He could stay like this forever.

The song reached an end and a livelier one replaced it. Bofur started singing the lyrics to the song while the dwarves not playing joined in the dancing. Dwarves stomped and jumped and clapped around him while Thorin spun him around. He held most of Bilbo’s weight and the dizzying pace made him laugh. Colors whirled around him at the twirling, and the rain felt like a cool balm on his overheated cheeks.

Fíli had climbed on Kíli’s shoulder and they were doing a strange headstand type of thing. Dwalin was dancing with Ori. He had a large grin on his brutish face and the small dwarf was beaming up at him. Bifur was bouncing beside Dori, who had put aside his properness for once and was laughing as rain soaked them both. Gandalf was even dancing with his arms in the air like hobbits.

It was perfect and too much and Eru, Bilbo had never thought this could be his life. He held on to Thorin’s hand as tightly as he could and danced as well as he could. He was a bit breathless, and he was already getting tired, but he’d hold onto it until he physically couldn’t.

-[]-[]-[]-

“Thank you for indulging me, daghel.” Thorin said once they reached the carriage door. The rain had nearly stopped but they were still soaked through. Bilbo would need to dry off as soon as he went inside. The other dwarves were already in the tent like shelter they had made.

It was just Thorin and Bilbo outside. Bilbo liked it that way. Especially when Thorin was giving him a faint, fond smile with adoration so evident in his eyes. The prince took his hands and stepped closer, into Bilbo’s space. His commanding presence stole the hobbit’s breath away and his heart fluttered weakly.

He didn’t want to be tired. The weariness was everywhere, a heavyweight he couldn’t ever seem to get rid of.

“You are lovely in the rain.” Thorin observed. He tucked one of Bilbo’s curls back and let his fingers trail along the curve of his ear. It made Bilbo shiver and bite his lips against a moan. Thorin’s eyes darkened and the fingers trailed back up to brush along the upper shell. He tugged on the cuff there and Bilbo shuddered. He clutched Thorin more tightly and ducked his head to suck in a breath. The hand on his ear dropped to his chin and lifted it up so that Bilbo had to look at Thorin.

“My daghel…” he murmured, and then Thorin kissed him, slow and reverent. Bilbo held on and tried to keep his heart calm. He was already dizzy.

He pulled away with a gasp and tried not to sway. He was breathless-not in the pleasant way-and his limbs felt dreadfully heavy.

“Bilbo, hold on.” Thorin wrapped him up and held him upright. “Are you well? Do I need to carry you?”

Bilbo shook his head as sorrow welled up in him. The tears came quickly and abundantly, streaking down his cheeks and off the top of his nose while he shook his head. He pressed as close to Thorin as he could and buried his face into the soft furs that the dwarf was wearing.

“You are not well or you do not need me to carry you? Daghel?”

“I want to stay here.” Bilbo answered, his voice thick. “And I am not well. Not at all. I am _scared_.”

Then he began to talk. For the first time in his entire life, Bilbo told another person that he was scared.

And he didn’t stop. The proverbial dam broke and it came out. Every last bit of it. He wept into Thorin’s chest, shouting when he had the air and asking why it had to be him. He let all the fear out, the pain, the confusion, the hate for what was happening.

The longing to just be normal. To simply live.

Thorin held him close, not saying anything. He let Bilbo blubber and shout and tucked his head over Bilbo’s. Finally, when Bilbo had nothing left, he spoke.

“I am here, daghel. I love you. I will not leave you. Please, please do not give up hope.” Kisses were pressed to the top of his head and Thorin wrapped his arms more securely around Bilbo’s form. “Please do not give up.”

Being held tight was the only time Bilbo really felt comfort. In Thorin’s arms the pain and sorrow of his world just slipped away. In Thorin’s arms, in the dark of the night, he could believe. He could believe that all the things he wished for would come.

But morning would come, and Thorin would have to leave. It was hard to believe when he had to sleep for twenty hours a day.

Still, hope stubbornly spread delicate wings through his chest. It fluttered and Bilbo clung tighter to Thorin’s shoulders. He burrowed as far into the embrace as he could and let the faint hope burn bright. It didn’t put out the fear, but it made it bearable.

For Gandalf, Thorin, and the others he would hold on. He would fight to his final breath. Even if he didn’t believe it himself, he’d hold onto hope for them. 


	12. Chapter 12

_“You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm, there were times I didn't even think you were human._  
 _But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known,_  
 _and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so there._  
 _I was so alone, and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing,_  
 _One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this.”_   
_-The Reichenbach Fall_

* * *

 

Thorin had not cried in over sixty years.

It was an odd fact to be aware of. Not something most elves, men, or hobbits could tell you. A dwarf could answer the question of when they cried last fairly readily.

Dwarves were hardy, strong, and proud. They were made to endure and did not easily give in to any emotion other than joy, jealousy, pride, anger, and familial love.

He had last cried Sixty-seven years, five months, and four days ago. He had last cried while he knelt on the floor, fisting a quilt in hands that shook. He could still recall the sound of Dís, and Frerin’s sobs joining his own in the air. The room had been cold and the stone unforgiving beneath his knees.

The fire had gone out a while earlier, but no one had had the mind to relight it. The servants were not permitted to enter.

The sobs that tore from his throat were harsh, violent things that left him aching with a ravaged throat. It had been days before he lost the rasp they had caused him to speak with.

On that terrible day so many years ago, Thorin had lost his mother. He had lost Fanthra, fourth Queen under the mountain and the brightest jewel in Erebor. She had breathed her last and succumbed to the winter illness that had plagued his people so horribly that year.

Until today, Thorin had not thought anyone else worthy of his tears. They had been for his mother, and before her, his grandfather. No other was worth as much as them.

Then Bilbo Baggins had strolled into his life. The hobbit had surprised him, and then he had burgled away Thorin’s heart. He’d done it quickly and with a skill that Thorin would never have thought such a gentle folk could possess. He was enrapture before he knew it, and that had strengthened into a love that burned bright in his chest. A warmth that nothing cooled.

Then Bilbo had said: _I don’t have very long left._ And Thorin had known. He had found one worthy of his tears.

He’d raced into the woods to muffle the sounds of his shouts. He hit a tree, an oak that had been at least a hundred years old, with all the strength he possessed while he roared at the sky. It hadn’t lessened the burning rage in his chest or the ache in his bones.

He hadn’t cried. His blood had flown instead of his tears.

He’d nearly cried when he told Bilbo how he truly felt, but he’d managed to hold them back. He had garbled that up horribly, and he had no idea why Bilbo had thought him worthy enough to stick with. He didn’t deserve to be courted by the beautiful, tender, fierce, creature after how bumbling of an idiot he’d been.

He could not speak around the hobbit. He just stole Thorin’s words and made them tangle up in his mind until he couldn’t make sense of anything. Until there was nothing left but the emotions that Thorin did not know how to handle.

Bilbo was standing in front of him now. He’d just climbed down the carriage steps and he was looking at the ground. His skin was pale, almost as white as the button up shirt he was wearing. His eyes stood out in dark contrast to the rest of the white flesh, having dark circles that made him look bruised. His gingery-gold curls were dull and hanging around his face limply, seeming to lack the energy to hang properly. His limbs were shaking and he was swaying on the spot. He was staring at the ground and looked as if he genuinely did not have the strength to lift his head.

Thorin felt his heart skip several beats. It was only the whoosh of his breath leaving his body that let him know time was moving forward at all.

“I’m so _tired_.” Bilbo murmured. “I spend most of my time sleeping and I’m still so tired.” He swayed violently and Thorin lurched forward to grab hold of his shoulders. He saw Gandalf walking towards them out of the corner of his eye, as well as several other dwarves, but he ignored it. “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, making a vain effort to wrap his hand around the dwarf’s waist. Thorin scooped him up and held him close. Bilbo weighed very little.

He was cool to the touch.

The hobbit looked up at him with eyes that were fluttering. He dropped his head against Thorin’s chest and sighed. “It’s alright, Bilbo.” Thorin brushed a kiss to the thin, soft, curls and stepped back up into the carriage. He lowered Bilbo down on the bench as Gandalf stepped into the carriage. Bilbo was already sleeping again, and awareness seemed to drop on Thorin’s shoulders as he pulled the old quilt back around Bilbo’s thin shoulders. He stepped back and let Gandalf tend to Bilbo as a shaky feeling came over him. It was quick and consuming. A dreadful awareness that Bilbo was dying and was not going to live. He was literally watching the hobbit fade away. It wasn’t anything they could fight. Even the wizard couldn’t keep him there.

The knowledge that each breath Bilbo took was possibly his last was suffocating in its enormity. Thorin felt dizzy with it, and he could not breathe. His heart was racing like a frightened hare, and his vision swam.

He had to escape, but there was no where to escape to. There was no where to go where this terror wouldn’t reach him.

There was nothing that could make this better. They were still a hundred or so miles away. They had only _just_ reached Greenwood.

He took another staggering step back as Gandalf started to chant spells over Bilbo’s silent form. The carriage was suffocating. Reality was everywhere and Thorin needed to get away from it so he could _breathe_.

He fled the carriage, not caring that it was cowardly, and pushed past the eleven-Óin had joined Gandalf inside- dwarves who were gathered at its entrance. He ran towards the woods, but he couldn’t make it. The knowledge that Bilbo was fading away, that he didn’t have anything near five months left, was crashing around him.

Bilbo might not even have five _hours_.

Thorin dropped to his knees. The sound was dull and hollow and he hardly felt the pain as his knees hit the hard earth. He bent over and pressed a hand against the grass as the tears fell. He stuffed a fist into his mouth in an attempt to muffle the wails that were tearing from his throat, but the air still shook with them.

His chest felt like it was being torn out of him. He was being filled with a horrible darkness that was leaking into his vision. The bright spring day seemed dull and the warmth of the sun had all but disappeared. A roaring chasm of fear, sorrow, and urgency was consuming him, and there was no escape from it.

He’d heard tales. It was impossible not to hear _some_ stories, but they hadn’t -couldn’t- prepare him for this. Dwarves who had lost their loves spoke about it, the _charachel_ , as if it was a slow pain. A constant ache that never really disappeared and always kept the dwarf aware of what they were missing.

This was not slow, or an ‘ache.’

This was _agony_. This was a bone deep awareness that Bilbo was not going to survive. A gut pain that was not going to disappear and one he was not certain he would be able to fight against. Bilbo was dying in the carriage and Thorin could not save him. He was going to _lose him_. He was not going to have Bilbo long enough to actually marry him. There were so many things he’d never get to see Bilbo do. So many images he’d imagined in the last month that would _never_ come to fulfillment. He wouldn’t be able to dress Bilbo in the beads and jewels of his family and dance with him at their wedding feast. He’d never introduce him to Frerin and Dis, and be horrified by the embarrassing stories his siblings would tell.

He’d known there was a chance that Bilbo… That the trip would… But, he had hoped, he had wished… He had wanted so much...

The world was changing around him. It was becoming a distant thing that was not important. All that was important was fading away and dying and Thorin could not get him to the elf fast enough.

He would kill that elf, if he ever saw him. What coward allowed someone like Bilbo to die because their lands were perilous to travel through? Why hadn’t the elf just cleared the evil out like a halfway decent ruler?

Thorin choked and gasped in a breath. His throat was utterly ragged. He felt like he was dropped back into his body, which he realized was surrounded by other dwarves. Fíli, Kíli, and Balin had their hands on him. In a different situation he would have been horrified at the loss of control they were witnessing.

He felt no shame right now. He welcomed their gaze and companionship. Bilbo was worth falling apart for. He welcomed their tears to mingle with his. Grieving was not something that he would do alone. Bilbo was well loved. Their wails for the hobbit would be heard by Mandos himself. Mayhaps he would allow Mahal to have the hobbit join them in eternity.

It was all he had left. They would not be able to spend their life together. The next life was his one hope.

When Bilbo di-went on to the golden shores, Thorin would never cry again. He felt it with a deep certainty. There was nothing else in this world as terrible as the pain he was feeling at this moment. Nothing else could feel this terrible. Nothing else could possibly hurt this badly.

With Bilbo’s passing, there would be nothing left that could hurt him as much.

-[]-[]-[]-

“There is not much time.” Gandalf said as he climbed down from the carriage. Óin followed behind him with a very grave expression. Gandalf’s face was carefully blank, the tremor in his hand was the only thing that gave away the true depth of his emotions. “I fear that we will not be able to get him to Thranduil in time.”

“He hasn’t got more than two days at this rate.” Óin stated. He wiped his hands off on a bit of cloth and Thorin focused on those movements to keep from swaying. Two days… Hours. He had mere hours left with his Bilbo.

“Then we will unhitch Shadowfax and you will carry him to the king.” Thorin said. It took everything within him not to say he would take Bilbo. Gandalf shook his head and Thorin fisted his hands.

“The path is too congested for Shadowfax to get through. There are also giant spiders prowling about. It is too perilous.”

If Thorin was told once more that it was ‘too perilous’ he would stab the individual that spoke. They only had a few hours. Thorin would not stand still. He would spend his last breath dragging the hobbit if he had to. Until Bilbo was dead, he would not stop trying. “Then I will carry him.”

Gandalf gave him an unamused glare. “Bilbo will not survive so rough a journey.”

“He’s not surviving right now.” Thorin growled out. They were wasting time! It felt like a vise around his throat, the awareness of how little time there was. It was tightening with each passing second. Why did they continue to do nothing?

“Precisely!” Gandalf barked in a horribly loud voice that seemed to resonate from the very ground Thorin stood on. “I have let you away with much, but push no more! You are not the only one to care for the halfling. I have a plan, but I do not have time to describe it to you. I must go into the woods in search of the only aid that will work.”

There. Was. Not. Time.

Thorin felt the press of it all over. It was a fine panic that thrummed under his fingers and made everything seem more real. Gandalf said something that Thorin couldn’t hear, and dashed into the woods.

Thorin watched him go before looking back at the carriage. Óin studied him before huffing. “You can see Bilbo, if you want. Just don’t excite him. He may not wake at all.” With that, the older dwarf walked down, off the steps and went to Balin. He began discussing something in a low voice but Thorin could make his mind pay attention to whatever it was.

He walked up the carriage steps and stood still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dark room. There was a blanket bundled lump laying on the bench with just a hint of gingery-gold curls peeking out the top. He went to it and knelt beside the bench.

Bilbo stirred. He rolled his head towards Thorin and his eyes fluttered. His mouth opened in a silent breath and Thorin’s heart thumped doubly hard. It was almost as if it was making up for the fact that Bilbo’s could hardly thump at all.

It was fading away. Taking the beautiful hobbit Thorin loved with it. The sorrow pounded deep within him. An incredible pain that he half believed was his soul mourning.

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered as he looked up at Thorin and recognition lit his eyes. He blinked heavily and tried to lift his arm. Thorin cupped his face in his hands and felt water splashing on his hands and trailing down his cheeks. He was crying, he realized somewhat distantly.

Bilbo’s hand finally reached his cheek and stroked back the wayward strands as a slow smile lifted his lips.

“Hello,” his voice was heavy and thick, almost clumsy. His hand dropped back to the blanket and he blinked slowly.

“Daghel, love,” Bilbo’s smile grew a little larger and he turned his hand so it was palm up. Thorin accepted the invitation and grasped the cold, clumsy fingers in his own.

“You still haven’t told me what that means.” His face was soft and peaceful. It made Thorin want to bury his head in the blankets and weep.

“In time, Daghel. I will tell you little by little.” Bilbo chuckled and gave his head a tiny shake. It was mostly done by gravity.

“Thank you, for everything.” he whispered, “you made it all worth having.”

“Do not say such things, Bilbo. I am going to save you.” Bilbo’s eyes stared up at him, hazy and slightly unfocused.

“Silly dwarf.” It was barely more than a breath, and the green-blue eyes were already slipping shut. “You already did.”

Thorin clutched Bilbo’s clammy hand in his own. He wanted to whisk the hobbit away from this madness to a place where he would never again be harmed. He wanted his hobbit to wake up and smile. To be able to look at his sparkling eyes again.

To see him run, and swim, and dance, and sing. To see him full of life.

“Mahal,” he said, and it sounded like a whimper. A single, broken, word that drifted through the air. “Gajum… Gajum hifurkh. Gajum hivust uûrûn. (Please… please let him live. Please heal him and make him whole.)” Tears, hot and heavy fell onto his hands. “Mahal, igbil men Bilbo, gajum… gajum. (I am not worthy of Bilbo, but, please… please.” He swallowed thickly and fisted the fabric to keep from shaking anymore. “Aklatâ menu khazad urùkhosh. Yavanna, hivust menu inùdoy. (Please hear your son’s cry. Yavanna, heal your child.)”

A shout sounded outside the carriage, followed by a thud that sounded like something very large had just fallen. Thorin bolted up and stepped towards the door. He glanced at Bilbo who was still asleep, and then he left to see what the commotion was.

Thorin made it to the steps before he froze. He blinked three times, shook his head, and looked again but the vision didn’t change.

There was an eagle in front of him. Not a normal eagle. Not one of the ones that hunted by the Blue Mountains. No. This one was larger than a troll.

He was staring at Thorin with yellow eyes that the dwarf could not look away from. There was a raven seated on his foot, and it looked like an ant against the giant bird.

“Thorin, son of Thrain? Prince Under the Mountain?” The eagle’s voice was old and wise, and it made a chill run up Thorin’s spine.

He climbed down the remaining steps and inclined his head respectfully. “I am he, lord of the wind. How may I be of service?”

“I have come to escort the hobbit to the palace of Lord Thranduil.” He stepped nearer and Thorin stiffened his shoulders to keep from moving.

“Pardon?”

“Gwaihir!” Gandalf bellowed. Thorin’s head snapped to the right to see the Wizard running out of the woods. “You have excellent timing, old friend.”

The eagle shuffled around to face Gandalf. “I would have come sooner had I known of your need.”

“I could find no means to call for you.” Gandalf spoke as he walked. He was headed towards the carriage so Thorin stepped aside to allow him passage. “I do not know why you are here, but I am most grateful.” He ducked into the carriage and came out a moment later with Bilbo in his arms. The hobbit looked even paler in the waning sunlight.

“This raven, Master Poe, told me of your need.” Gandalf climbed onto the eagles back and clutched Bilbo securely to his chest.

“Away, Windlord, we have need of haste.”

And then the eagle was rising into the air with a great gust of wind that nearly knocked the carriage over, and spooked the ponies.

Thorin felt like he was standing alone. Everything was gone and it was just him. He couldn’t walk forward without swaying and nearly falling. He felt like a leaf on the wind, swaying around dizzily and destined to hit the ground.

To be crushed under foot and never be lifted to the air again.

It took his lungs burning and his vision swimming to realize that he was holding his breath. He sucked in a lungful of air and, while the burning eased, the ache did not.

Bilbo was gone. He was just gone.

He hadn’t even woken up when the bird took off. Thorin desperately hoped he did. Bilbo had always wanted to fly, and he did not want his Daghel to miss the chance to experience it.

He hadn’t really looked alive.

“The raven sent him?” Kíli’s voice was awed and slightly scared. It brought Thorin back to the present. He swallowed, blinked, and took stock of his body. His chest wasn’t burning anymore, and his vision  had cleared. There were twelve fairly surprised dwarves in front of him, and several antsy animals.

“We’re following after them, right?” Fíli stepped forward while he fastened his sword to his side. Dwalin did the same with his battle axes while Glóin pulled a single fighting axe out.

“Yes. Make ready. Prepare to fight. Gandalf warned us of Spiders.” Thorin squared his shoulders and very carefully locked his emotions away in the back of his mind. He would bottle them up and ignore them until they were at Thranduil’s palace. Until they were safe. He had to lead his dwarves through the forest where Mahal-knew-what was hiding in the darkness.

He would not think of how pale his hobbit had been or the pain trying to eat its way out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Now that I've depressed everyone, I have a question. I'm working on another story idea and wanted to know if anyone thought this summary sounded interesting. 
> 
> “This is a trinket I was given at your birth. I have never shown you it as the time was not right before now.” Thrain opened his palm to reveal a golden band. It was smoothed by touch and unadorned. Not spectacular, but Thrain would hardly hold onto such a trinket if it was not worth something.
> 
> “The wizard who gave it to me was quite adamant that you should have it when you were of age.” The king held it out to Thorin. The metal was cool to the touch, but quickly warmed up in the heat of his hand. He ran his fingers along it and nearly shuddered. He could feel it throbbing, nearly vibrating with a strange sort of energy.
> 
> “This ring is not meant for you to wear, of course. It is too small for your. This ring is made to fit only the person that will be your Sanzeuh. You have sixty days in which to find him.”
> 
> Sixty days. Sixty days to find something as ridiculous as true love, or he'd have to marry a beardless, nagging dwarrowdame. Thorin Oakenshield didn't think it could happen.
> 
> And then Bilbo Baggins popped into his life. Though, Thorin could have done without the pumpkins, mice, shoes, and girly bits. Still, the course of true love never has run smooth.
> 
>  
> 
> Thoughts? Ideas? Suggestions?


	13. Chapter 13

_To live… To live would be an awfully big adventure._   
_-Hook_

‘Wind’ was Bilbo’s first semi-conscious thought. Mainly because it was everywhere. It was over him, around him, beside him, under him… he half imagined it was even in him. It was noisy and harsh, and he offhandedly wondered if he was falling like he always seemed to be in his dreams.

It seemed like a cruel joke that he was still breathless when he was nearly drowning in wind.

He recognized the feel of Gandalf’s cloak where he had his cheek pressed against the wizard’s arm. He was being held to Gandalf’s chest and they were straddling something.

It wasn’t a horse.

Bilbo lulled his head to the side and opened his eyes to see what was going on. He felt light headed and utterly exhausted, but his curiosity did not care. Something interesting was going on and he would be dead before he simply ignored something interesting.

There was a lot of blue. Blue everywhere. It took him several long moments, and at least five blinks to realize he was looking at the sky.

He was in the air.

A quick glance down solved why he was in the air. He was sitting on the back of a large creature that was brown colored and covered in feathers. A bird?

An eagle. What?

“Gandalf?” Bilbo’s voice came out almost too quiet for him to hear. He swallowed, which was difficult, more so than a swallow had any right to be, and tried not to let his head drop. “Gandalf?”

“Relax, Aew nín. This is Gwaihir. He is escorting us to Lord Thranduil. We are nearly there.” The arm that was wrapped around his waist tightened it’s hold and pulled him closer.

They were flying. Bilbo’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he realized what was happening. He was riding an eagle as it flew.

It felt _incredible_.

They were moving through the air, with the air. They were suspended, free and not tied to the earth. They were higher than any hobbit had ever been, seeing things that no one else got to see.

He felt dizzy with realization.

And exhausted. The light-headedness was getting worse and his breath was coming in short-gasping motions that were doing nothing to ease the burning in his chest. His heart fluttered and he slumped against Gandalf’s hold.

Gwaihir flew lower. Bilbo barely caught sight of a shining building through the trees before he dropped his head. He couldn’t hold it up. He felt worn out. Thin and almost empty. He’d been stretched out too far. He wouldn’t be able to stretch much further.

“Where are… others?” Bilbo wanted to know before the darkness claimed him again. His conscious was already slipping.

“They are riding through. They will meet us at the palace. Rest, Aew nín. All will be well.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and hoped Gandalf was right. He wanted it to be alright. He didn’t want to die. And he really didn’t want to die and leave Gandalf alone. It would be better if the others were there. They would make sure he wasn’t alone.

-[]-[]-[]-

The next time he woke it was to find himself being lowered on a real bed. It was the most delightfully soft thing he’d ever laid on, and he wanted to steal it away and just spend his days snuggling the thing.

A blankets of the smoothest silk was draped over his chest and everything was coolness and light. A breeze drifted over his body with tender strokes, and brought the scent of a forest to him. He could hear musical voices singing a beautiful melody, and laughter that bubbled like a brook echoing from somewhere not too distant. Thin fingers stroked his cheeks while another hand pressed against his forehead. They were both smooth, not the slightest hints of a callous present.

They were different in every way from Gandalf, Thorin, Ori, Bofur, Bifur, Fíli, Kíli, and Óin’s hands. He missed their touch. The roughness was a small price for the affection he could always feel in their caresses.

Lilting words drifted around him in a constant cascade.

It took him a very long time to make sense of them. His mind felt like it was drifting along on a cloud and everything felt wonderfully fluffy.

“-take care of him, Mithrandir.” The Sindarin dropped from the elves tongue with enviable ease and seemed to brighten the air. The language held a sort of magic that Bilbo would never fully understand. It didn’t hold the same harshness that Khuzdul had, or the joyfulness that Bilbo’s own tongue, the Shire language, had. Still, there was something fascinating about the way that a dwarf could make the barking khuzdul sound as gentle as a baby’s laugh.

What kind of herbs did they have him on? Bilbo was feeling a bit loopy.

“If he dies because you were not willing to leave your lands…” Gandalf’s voice trailed off and it made Bilbo frown. He couldn’t see anything but the ceiling-which was a golden white- but he knew that tone. It was Gandalf’s ‘do not trifle with me’ voice. Who was talking to him?

“Gandalf?” Bilbo spoke the word in a dry, cracking voice. He felt oddly disconnected from it.

The wizard’s aged face instantly appeared in his field of vision. He bent over at the waist and the tip of his beard brushed against Bilbo’s (bare?) chest. “Bilbo,” The wizard murmured, and his face scrunched up in the wrong sort of way. The way it did when the wizard was upset about something.

“What is happening?”

“You’re in Greenwood, Bilbo. Thranduil is about to heal you.” His gnarled hand found Bilbo’s where it was resting on the silky blanket and clasped it tightly. The wizard was always so warm. He was like a roaring fire that was untamable. It would never burn Bilbo though, he wasn’t afraid of the flames.

“He’s going to try and fix my heart.” Bilbo gave his tired head a nod. He was coming back to himself. “The others?”

“Have not yet arrived, Aew nín. They will soon. Legolas, Thranduil’s son, has gone to fetch them for you.” He rubbed his thumb along the back of Bilbo’s hand. “You will see them before-” He cut off with a bit of a cough.

He looked sad again. Bilbo was tired of sad looking people. He didn’t want them crying about him.

Bilbo reached up with a hand that shook because he couldn’t really control it. He tangled his fingers in the silver scarf Gandalf was wearing and smiled as well as he could. It was the last item he had made the wizard. “I’ll be back, Gandalf. We’ll go on another adventure when I return. Okay? I think I’d quite like to see another mountain.”

“Thorin would love to show you his.” Gandalf assured him. Bilbo half imagined there were tears in the blue-grey eyes of the wizard.

“Will you dance with me at the wedding?” Gandalf nodded his head and Bilbo knew he hadn’t imagined the tears. “That will be nice.” He closed his eyes and felt the darkness creep around his mind again. He could hardly breathe.  Birds called outside and Bilbo missed the sound of wind on the water. He didn’t feel frightened. Whatever happened, he felt content.

The wind danced through the trees and the sound of it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Fairer than music and calmer than a lullaby. It was calling him to sleep and peace. He felt safe and unafraid.

The darkness couldn’t scare him. It was just a lie. Whatever was next, it wasn’t the end. Whether golden shores awaited him, or vibrant blue eyes, there was sure to be an adventure.

The wind blew over him, a quiet caress and a wonderful comfort as he slipped into sleep.

-[]-[]-[]-

Gandalf had been alive for a very long time. The years blended together into an endless journey, one that he was often weary of. He would occasionally close his eyes and remember younger days. The before. He would remember the garden of Irmo and the song of Nienna. The beauty and simplicity of daily life before he came to Middle Earth.

He had known countless people in his life. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall. Devastation in all forms, and he had learned that life was long and often quite dark.

Perhaps that was what had first drawn him to the Shire. It was quiet in the land of Yavanna’s children. There was a simplicity to life there that was not able to be found in any other kingdom in Middle Earth. It was one place that darkness had not gotten hold of.

It was untainted.

No one truly seemed to understand his fascination with the simple creatures that dwelled in the Shire. Indeed, he hardly understood it himself. Hobbits were nothing special. Most of the wise would even consider them silly. They were not exceptionally smart, talented, or useful. They were simply… happy. They were pure and innocent, and Gandalf longed to join them in their innocence. He wanted to preserve it and protect it so that even if he could not be one of them, the beauty and joy of the hobbits would endure.

That was what enabled him to continue when so much of the world was dark and ruined. When so much was tainted by evil, he thought of the Shire. There was good in the world, and it might not have been grand, but it was worth saving.

It was not such a bad thing to cherish a simple life. Everyday acts of love and kindness were what made the Shire such a wondrous place.

Bilbo Baggins perfectly summed up why Gandalf loved hobbits. The halfling was dying when he was barely of age. He should have been bitter or angry. Shouting at the Valar and Eru while cursing everyone he came across. Others would have.

But not a hobbit. Not Bilbo. He accepted his fate and tried to live despite it. He face the future with enviable bravery and a joy that wasn’t able to be stolen.

He even made Gandalf smile.

Gandalf was one of the most powerful beings on Middle Earth. There were few who could challenge him, and most of them he had not been tested against.

He very much disliked being helpless. And that was what he was.

“Mithrandir,” The light voice grated on Gandalf’s thin nerves. “would you care for some-”

“No. How is the hobbit coming?” The lady stepped back and inclined her head politely. Her silvery hair fell over her shoulder, the same color as starlight, and her blue eyes were bright with curiosity.

“He sleeps still, milord. King Thranduil is tending to him as we speak. He seemed quite hopeful.” Gandalf harrumphed and pulled his pipe free from his staff.

“Very well. Inform me the minute there is any news.” The elf nodded her head, looking uncertain.

“What about the dwarves?”

“Dwarves?” Gandalf spluttered on the smoke that went down the wrong pipe and turned to face the elf. Why did people not lead with that sort of thing?

“Prince Legolas found thirteen of them trying to fight through a nest of spiders. He brought them to the palace. They are waiting for Lord Thranduil to be free.”

“Take me to them.”

-[]-[]-[]-

It was now Thorin’s opinion that forest were, in fact, good for absolutely nothing. They were dense and difficult to get through with ponies, wagons, and carriages.

Shadowfax had managing to keep all the animals in line. Each time one of them would get antsy the horse would neigh and stomp his foot. The nervous animal would quiet down and follow without another noise. It was astounding to watch, and very useful.

It would have been difficult enough of a journey with just that. It was a miserable trip because the slow going was the least of their worries.

There were spiders. Which was far too unassuming a term for the creatures that had to have been from Utumno itself. They were gigantic and nearly impossible to destroy.

Gandalf had not been wrong, Bilbo would not have survived the journey. It made the anger that had been boiling in Thorin since his halfling had been taken away surge to life. He hadn’t been aware he could hate anybody so much. Thranduil was a coward.

His son was not. The elf prince raced around the trees and danced through the air with enviable grace and faced the demonic creatures with admirable courage. He’d brought several other elves with him and they managed (with the dwarves help of course) to eliminate the enemy.

Then the bloody elves had taken them to the throne room to await the King’s sentence.

“This,” Dwalin declared with a growl, “is ridiculous.” He drew nearer to Ori who looked ragged. His knit sweater was caked with blood and leaves and had several holes torn into.

Thorin was coated in the same. There was also venom and web residue. It all smelled horrible, and would have made him ill on a different occasion.

He didn’t really care all that much right now. He couldn’t move his eyes from his hands. The handwarmers that Bilbo had made him were ripped.

He’d stabbed the spider through the heart for that.

They were waiting again. Forced to stay in the tree-inspired room until Thranduil allowed them leave. Bilbo was in a room nearby, dying, and Thorin was not allowed to go to him. He was being forced to break his promise to be with Bilbo until the end by the very elf that had been too cowardly to go heal a halfling.

“Where are they?” The booming voice blew through the entire room and made the dwarves all snap to attention. Hope sprung in Thorin’s chest. The wizard appeared at the far end of the hall and he moved.

“Gandalf!” Thorin rushed forward only to be stopped by two elf guards. He managed not to growl at them which required all his control. “Bilbo? Is he-” His dwarves moved in closer, desperate to hear the news.

“Thranduil is tending to him as we speak. They believe there is much hope.”

Thorin allowed the guards to push him back. He felt shaky and unsteady. He didn’t think it would take much more than a tap to knock him over. Balin was at his side, as well as Fíli.  

Bilbo was still alive. There was still hope. He let his eyes slip shut for a moment and he sent a desperate prayer to Mahal and Yavanna.

“Why are we being detained?” Ori demanded.

“Because there was a lack of communication. Release these dwarves!”  Gandalf barked the order at the elves who instantly stepped aside. They looked mildly terrified, much to Thorin’s amusement.

“How long till we will know?” Gandalf reached them and gave his grey head a shake. He didn’t know. Thorin took a careful breath as the numb feeling of worry settled on his shoulders again.  

“I don’t know.” his gruff voice was laced with worry.

“Bilbo u amtêkurdu. (Bilbo is a strong heart)” Bifur said with a jab of his finger in the air. “U hianùmad.” (He will win.) Bofur nodded his head and patted his cousin on the back.

“Yeah. The strongest.”

It had been days… surely they knew something? Thorin could not last in this uncertainty much longer. It was almost worse than knowing. He could neither despair or hope.

“Mithrandir?”

A tall, blonde elf with eyes the palest blue Thorin had ever seen walked into the room. He strode forward with steps that made him look as if he was simply gliding. He tilted his head inquisitively and peered at Gandalf for a long moment.

“Mithrandir? You wished to know the hobbit’s fate?” Gandalf nodded his head. "Yes, Rilian, tell me all that you know." Thorin stepped forward as the elf began to speak.

He fell to the ground as his knees gave out and the air left his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs readers* You guys are the best. I did not think this story would have many readers and you lot just came out of the woodwork and made me feel so loved! I promise the next chapter will be up super soon! It's also the last chapter/epilogue thingy. :)
> 
> So... I apparently confuse a few people with my update speed so, here it is all explained out and stuffs.
> 
> I'm graduated from college and work full time in a customer service job that could really just use a voice mail system. I get an average of five calls a day, that never last longer than five minutes, and I receive fifteen or so e-mails a day. All of which means I have very little to do during the day and I get bored easily. Really easily. Like a puppy on crack. I'm not able to access any fun sites on my computer save for ao3 and google 'cause the IT people here block all things that make life entertaining. So I spend most of my time reading or writing. I am always getting random plot ideas and I jot them down whenever they come to me.
> 
> Because I have so very little to do at my job I get lots of typing time. Writing is my favorite thing in the world to do and I'm rather quick at it. (It also gives me the appearance and sound of being busy.) I usually get to write 3000 words a day. If I don't, it's a bad day. (and I get a little stir crazy. I literally start writing in my head. It's bad. I zone out on important conversations and get in trouble.)
> 
> Now, most of this story I wrote during the ice storms that knocked my electricity out over, and over, and over again. I was in a very angsty mood and there was NOTHING else to do because I was stuck at my house with no electricity and no friends. Just my sleepy dog, a small fire, a few cans of ravioli, and a notebook. Ere the Break of Day was taking me forever to think out so I switched to this plot. 
> 
> That meant I didn't have a lot left to do on this story other than flesh out a few more scenes and make sure it flowed nicely. So, new plot ideas happened. And Cinderella decided it wanted to give Thorin, Bilbo, and company a try. I don't even know. My mind is a bit wack. 
> 
> Anyway-that was me getting distracted- I update quickly because I have no social life and I need something to do. Writing = <3 so that's what I tend to do. 
> 
> I really need to get more friends...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the not-to-distant future of the previous chapter. Like a month or so.

_"Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."_   
_-The Princess Bride_

* * *

 

It was still Thorin opinion that forest were not good for anything.

His opinion on elves, however, had vastly changed. They were still annoying, but he would never again curse one.

Greenwood was very large. He hated trying to find his way through it. He could never find anyone. He’d already gotten lost three times. He missed his mountains. They were easy to navigate.

He had to find him. He had to see him. Had to know…

Confunded elves and their stupid houses that blended with the trees. Thorin looked around at the wash house he’d managed to find and tried not to growl. Elves were cleaning linens while singing something in there strange language. He could go left or right… Left was the garden-thing, and right was the kitchens.

He turned to the left.

Thorin finally found his hobbit in the garden-like area outside the healing house. Bilbo was reclining at the base of a tree. He had a book open on his lap and its pages were flipping lazily in the breeze. His head was tilted back, pressed against the bark in quiet repose. Flower blossoms had fallen from the branches overhead and were scattered in his hair and across his body.

He looked like a piece of art. A flower blooming in spring that was far too beautiful to pluck from the earth. It made Thorin feel oddly breathless, and his heart ached to touch the beauty that was spread before him.

Bilbo wasn’t moving.

Memories of darker days sprang unbidden to Thorin’s mind and he found his breath fleeing for entirely different reasons. Bilbo hadn’t moved then either. Thorin stepped forward on numb feeling feet and swallowed thickly against the panic rising in his chest. 

“Fish.” Bilbo said plainly. Thorin blinked in confusion and tried not to sway. It was a bit much to see Bilbo laying down so soon. It made him remember and he wasn’t ready to remember. Blinking away the confusion, he saw Bilbo as he really was again. He was pleasantly, and _healthily_ , flushed and his strawberry curls weren’t hanging so limply. He was alive.

Thranduil had succeeded. There was nothing to fear. The news had been good. 

“Pardon?” Thorin asked once he managed to find his voice.

Bilbo smiled as he sat up and Thorin thought it might have dimmed the sun. “Fish. That’s what you’ve been calling me all this time.” He cocked his head and looked up through his eyelashes with a cheeky grin. “Hardly romantic.”

Thorin’s own grin was instinctual and not something that he could really fight. It was impossible to hold back his smile when Bilbo was near him. When he was no longer a pale shadow that seemed to fade with every day. “Fish of fish, actually.” He drew nearer with a strange, floaty feeling.

“That’s what the ‘el’ does?”

Thorin nodded his head. Bilbo’s eyes were wrinkled around the edges and tiny freckles peppered his nose and cheeks. Thorin wanted to count each one. He sat down beside the hobbit and tried to keep his hands to himself.

He failed.

He wrapped his fingers around Bilbo’s and tugged the small hand a little nearer. He needed to touch Bilbo. It was a constant want, and not in a sexual way. He needed to make certain that the hobbit was indeed alive. Even now his index finger found it’s way to the hobbit’s wrist to feel his pulse. The constant, gentle, thrum of blood was an incredible comfort. “Fish of fish.” Bilbo murmured, looking at their joined hands. “Why?”

“Because you seemed to like water.” Bilbo licked his bottom lip distractedly, and distractingly. He looked like he was having trouble focusing. Thorin kept rubbing his finger over Bilbo’s pulse. “And I wished to be clever before such a well learned hobbit.”

“Hmm?”

“When first we met.” Thorin added. Bilbo’s gaze flickered up before returning. He swallowed and Thorin continued. “You were daydreaming with the tips of your toes in the water. I don’t think you were even aware they were there. You looked so at peace with the water that I could think of no better term to describe you.”

Bilbo stiffened and his eyes darted back up to catch Thorin’s. The pleasant warmth in his chest purred happily at the contact. He loved looking into his hobbit’s eyes. A blush covered Bilbo’s cheeks and spread all the way down his neck, and up his ears. Bilbo spluttered and tried to tug his hand back. Thorin did not release it. “You-you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Thorin chuckled and pulled the hand back to his chest. He capture Bilbo’s other one and held it as well. He considered his captured prizes for a moment before taking them both up in one hand. He used his other one to map out Bilbo’s cheekbones, simply because he could. They were warm and soft, not papery feeling as they had been.

“Because I wanted you to find out. Or confess.” He tilted Bilbo’s head back up so he could look into the shining eyes again. “I had thought you were lusting after my form when it first happened.” He rubbed his thumb over Bilbo’s bottom lip and felt a heat unrolling in his own body. “And I was terribly flattered.” Bilbo’s eyes were wide and trusting. It undid Thorin to his very core. “I know now that was not the case, was it, Daghel?”

“You were so _alive_.” Bilbo murmured, his voice wistful. “I wanted to know what that was like.” His lip caught on Thorin’s thumb and the softness of it made Thorin slightly dizzy in combination with Bilbo’s words. “I had always dreamed of flying and then I saw you. Swimming seemed far more appealing.”

“Daghel.” Thorin murmured and Bilbo grinned so widely the crinkles reappeared at the corner of his eyes.

“I think that suits you as well, Kurduel.”

“I would rather remain your Kurduel, âzyung.”

“Daghkurdu.” Bilbo said with a thoughtful tilt of his head. He repeated the phrase in a manner that made it seem like he was savoring the word before he wrinkled his nose. “Everyone would think I was insane.”

“They would think my response insane.” Thorin replied. He tugged Bilbo closer until the hobbit was straddling his thighs. He released the hobbit’s hands and they went immediately to drape over his shoulders.

“Response?” Thorin nodded his head and Bilbo smiled coyly. He leaned forward until he was pressed against Thorin’s chest and rubbed his nose against Thorin’s in an affectionate way that hobbits apparently used. “Daghkurdu.” Thorin clutched Bilbo and pressed an ardent kiss to his lips. He felt the hobbit’s toes curl against his calf and he grinned.

“That, Daghel, is my response.” Bilbo hummed happily and pressed more kisses to his mouth.

"I could get used to that," Bilbo said. His voice was thick and slow between the lazy kisses.  A large, warm, shapeless happiness was welling up in Thorin. So massive that it was pushing everything else away. He was almost afraid of it.

Everything would be so different. It would all change. Thorin didn’t really do happiness. He didn’t really know how.

Bilbo giggled, a light sound that drifted up and away and seemed to weave a powerful magic with the air around them.

He’d learn how to be happy. It seemed like he’d have a lot of it now.

-[]-[]-[]-

“So,” Thorin asked much later, after a lot of kissing and slow exploring. It was marvelous to only be breathless in a pleasant way. “how did you learn what daghel meant?”

“Bifur.” Bilbo answered honestly. He felt wonderfully warm and relaxed laying in the evening sun with Thorin wrapped around him like a great coat. “He was talking about the stream. He kept pointing at the fish and saying ‘dagh.’ I managed to fit the pieces together.”

Thorin gave his head a tired nod and stretched languidly. It reminded Bilbo of a cat. The dwarf pressed his cheek against Bilbo for a moment and sat up. “Will you do me a favor, daghel?”

“Of course.” An ivory comb, inlaid with a jade handle was pushed into his hands. He turned the wide toothed comb over slowly before looking up at Thorin. The dwarf was already pulling his braids around and unclasping them. He gave Bilbo a small smile and nodded at the comb.

“Brushing a dwarf’s hair is something reserved only for those nearest them. I had wished to ask you before we reached Greenwood, but I did not think you would have the dexterity.” He lowered himself in front of Bilbo and waited patiently with a shyness in his eyes that warmed Bilbo.

“I’ve wanted to take care of your hair since I first saw you. It would be my honor.” He waited for a moment but Thorin remained still. “Umm, you need to turn around?”

Thorin’s smile dropped. “I hoped to watch you.”

“Your hair is on the back of your head.” Bilbo pointed out. He studied his despondent dwarf for a moment before cocking his head. “Though, I might be able to… yes. I have an idea.” He sat up on his knees and waddled closer to Thorin until he was straddling the dwarf’s large thighs. Thorin looked quite happy with the arrangement. “It will involve me getting close though.”

“Then, by all means, carry on.” Thorin murmured, his voice a husky purr that made Bilbo tighten his grip on the comb. He started by splitting the dwarf’s hair in half and draping it all over Thorin’s shoulders. Then he went about unweaving the many braids. He’d helped braid Thorin’s hair on several occasions, and he’d memorized the pattern by observing.

Thorin’s hands settled on his hip for a moment while he worked on combing the ends of the his thick hair. The right one worked its way up Bilbo’s chest and settled over his heart. He spread the fingers out, feeling the steady beat of Bilbo’s heart.

He did that a lot. He’d get a far away look on his eyes while his hand rested against Bilbo. He would lay his head on his chest and close his eyes. Bilbo had even seen a few tears leak out.

Bilbo never said anything. He knew the reason why. He had even caught Gandalf checking his pulse in the middle of the night.

They didn’t really believe it had happened. They didn’t believe that Thranduil had really managed to heal him.

Gandalf said it was Yavanna’s mercy. Thorin was convinced the raven had been sent by Aule.

“I imagine you’re giving the elves a lot of trouble.” He said while he pulled the comb gently through the black locks from top to bottom.

Thorin’s brow wrinkled and his eyes became  utterly confused and troubled. “Why would I do that? They are healing you.”

Bilbo felt like a troll. He also felt extremely loved. He set the comb aside and started to work on rebraiding. “Thank you for getting me here so fast. For always believing.” He plucked a bead from the ground beside Thorin.

“I understand why you laughed now.” Bilbo said with a brush of his fingers along the bead that he placed on the end of his courtship braid. “Daghel. I used a fisherman knot.”

Thorin’s eyes crinkled at the corners from the width of his grin. “It was an unexpected delight.” Thorin admitted. “It seemed determined by fate.”

“Sap,” Bilbo said with a tap to his dwarf’s nose. Thorin tugged him closer and brushed his nose up Bilbo’s throat before placing a kiss at the juncture of his neck and jaw. “Akhùthuzh.” (Eternally.)

“You’re finished.” Bilbo murmured, tipping his head further back to welcome more of Thorin’s languorous attention.

He found himself being pushed off Thorin’s lap as the dwarf stood up. He looked up disgruntledly to see Thorin’s hand taking hold of his.

“Come with me?”

“Where?” Bilbo asked as he stood up. It wasn’t like he was actually going to refuse.

“To swim, daghel men.”

He took Thorin’s hand in his own and, together, they walked under the trees towards the lake. The wind blew behind them, causing the leaves caught in the breeze to dance under the blue sky.

Bilbo no longer envied them.

* * *

 

_Let's put all our treasures together_

_\-- the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold --_

_into a sack and carry them to the sea and let our possessions sink_

_into one alarming breaker that sounds like a river._

_May whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea_

_with the long labor of its tides._

_-Pablo Naruda "An Ode to Broken Things"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This has been a ton of fun to write!


End file.
